Kill Kiddo
by Slave2Karma
Summary: When you devote your life to vengeance, it's impossible to think clearly. Hatred becomes all you breathe, all you think. It consumes you. Sometimes it's hard to remember what really destroyed me: Beatrix Kiddo or myself. Signed: Nikki Bell
1. The Story So Far

Authors Note: welcome to my first **official** fanfic. I was gonna wait till I wrote the whole fic before uploading it, but I couldn't take the suspense. So, read, review, enjoy, and have a great day, and hell, a great week as well! Originally rated M, but I was checking out the other fanfics rated T, and I discovered to my astonishment, they had just as much swearing and violence as mine. Besides, if a thirteen year old came to read kill bill fanfic, one would assume they saw the movie, and if they saw the movie, they can handle anything I dish out. For sure.

Disclaimer: the people who were in Kill Bill Vol. 1 and 2 are not mine. The people not in it are mine. Here it goes!

K_ill_ K_iddo_

"_You're thoughts create your world, Nikkia. When you're scared, when you're afraid baby, just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and picture what you wanna see. 'Cuz thoughts are stronger then monsters. Did you know that, baby?"_ --Vernita Green

_"Victims. Aren't we all?"_-- Eric Draven: The Crow

When you fall in a dream, you wake up and your heart is jumping because you really thought you were falling. When I fell, my heart jumped because I realized I wasn't dreamin'.

I felt myself lose balance_. No. I can't_. _I have to stand_. My legs go back. I have no control. Then my body gives way, and I go down. My head bangs into the wall, my muscles contract in pain, and I could feel the blood ooze out of my side.

Owwwie.

As my attacker approached, I let the air drain out of my lungs. My attacker cracked her knuckles, and looked down at me, her blue eyes drained of any emotion, of any sign, good or evil. I sneered and spit blood at her. SHE shook her head.

"You remind me of me. Of how I was." SHE says in her raspy voice. I glare at her. My eyes can be read like a book- angry, hurt, and overflowing with hatred.

"I'm...nuhh-nuhhh-huh...nothin-huhing likeee...y-hooh-huh...you." I tried to say, but I couldn't. The blade of the sai sword pierced my lung. I can't get any air.

SHE raised her eyebrow, then looked my wound over. SHE bent down.

"Is this where the story ends?" SHE asked.

The story. Whose story? Mine?

No. I don't want mine to end yet. _It can't. It can't_. I didn't get a happy ending. Shit man, I never get a happy ending.

But who's to say my ending would have been happy? What is the difference between good and evil? Who's to say if what I've done, who I've become is good or evil? Maybe my attacker is good. Maybe her ending was the happy one, the one that y'all were cheering for. Then, does that mean I'm the bad guy?

I try to move my fingers to the sword in my side, but I can't. I slide to the ground, my lung filling up with blood.

I need to close my eyes. Just for a minute. I know, they say your not s'pose to do that, but I know I'll open them. I will, I will okay! I'm just so tired. As I close my eyes, memories of what I've done to get this far flood my head. What did Kiddo call it? I can't remember...oh. My Story.

Stories don't make much sense if you hear them at the end. Let's rewind it a bit.

_zzzzzzzz_-i'm not like you_-zzzzzzzzzz-_born a victim-_zzzzzzzzzzzzzz-_we will begin our descent shortly-zzzzz-El and I-_zzzzzzz_-who the fuck hides a body in the gas tank-_zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_-Montoya_-zzzzzzzzzzzzz_-Pete-_zzzz_-Sofie Fatel-_zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_-Yin and Yang-_zzzzzzzzzz_-suffer-_zzzzzzzzzzz_-she had it commin'-_zzzzzzzzzzz_die kill-_zzzzzzzz_- tiger and dragon-_zzzzzz_-Copperhead_-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_-kids are smarter then-_zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_—

Okay, right there. That's good.

Kids are smarter then adults give them credit for. You wouldn't think it, but most kids are smarter then adults. They just have so much going on in their head at once; it's hard for them to express themselves in just a few sentences. But kids are really smart. They know how to add numbers without calculators, and feel like they did something GREAT. 'cuz it is. Using your brain without the help of adults But when kids start to cross that line, they stop swallowing all the crap parents shove down their throats.

When my mom told me that tiny Barney wrecked the house, I knew she was lying.

But the thing with kids is they always figure out a way to get something they want. When they question the tooth fairy, they "forget" to tell their mommy they lost their tooth. When they don't want broccoli, they hide it in their napkins.

So when my mom told me to go up to my room, I went into the upstairs bathroom, and put my head to the vent that went down to the kitchen. Congratulating myself on finding a way to listen in on my mother and Beatrix Kiddo's conversation, I thought I had won the battle. Instead, I found myself stumbling into the middle of a war.

Or a massacre.

I listened in on the story with a hunger. What had really happened in the living room, and why was my mama pretending I was stupid? I wasn't no fool back then. And she knew I didn't believe her. She knew. So whatever I was gonna hear, I knew it was something.

Mom asked if she still liked cream and sugar. She did. The start of a completely trivial conversation. borrrring. I thought about leaving. Then, I heard it.

"So I suppose it's a little late for an apology, huh?" my mommy asked.

Oo_ooh. What did mama do?_

"You suppose correctly." Beatrix Kiddo replied.

_This is gonna be good_. I thought, settling back down.

I should have left.

I listened in on the rest of their sick conversation, my knuckles pressed so hard to the ground I couldn't feel my fingers. Glued to the ground, like a deer in headlights. Beatrix Kiddo mentioned killing mom. And dad. And me. My heart thudded. She called mama a bitch. Mama called her bitch, and swore, but she swore a hella lot on any given occasion.

All I was was a baby. I was only four, but kids are smart. I didn't fight this logic that my mommy was somehow linked to this murderess Beatrix Kiddo. I accepted it easily, and shook where I sat. The vent I had used to spy on mommy many times before with daddy or Sarah was no longer any fun. The floor was cold, even though I pressed my knuckles on it so hard.

Maybe my knuckles would break open and bleed and I'd die.

Talk drew to a close. They arranged a time to meet. A place. Beatrix said someone called Bill said she was the best with an edge weapon. Mom called her a bitch. She also called her something else.

Black Mamba. She said that she should have been Black Mamba. Motherfuckin' Black Mamba.

But it felt as if she were safe. The way the conversation was endin'. Like, mommy wasn't gonna fight her. Like when Beatrix Kiddo left, she'd call the police. My thoughts create my world. Yeah. The police would show up at the diamond, and get her. My thoughts create my world. Just think, will what you want to happen, and it'll come true.

A picture of my dead mommy being carried away by a stretcher flashed into my head.

"Weapon of choice, but if you wanna stick with your butcher knife, that's fine." Beatrix Kiddo said.

"Very Funny, bitch."

That was it. Just hearing mommy's tone. I knew.

"VERY FUNNY!"

I heard a gunshot. I didn't even think about what would happen to me. I ran out of the bathroom, and down the stairs. But I knew I was to late. I knew she was gone. And seeing her dead confirmed it, and I thought I might feel mad and sad, and I might go crazy, and then I would scream, and pound and cry cry cry until my head was empty and my heart would be empty too and I would still cry and cry and cry because I was just a fuckin' baby and my mommy was dead and gone and she'd never call me Nikkia or make me a snack, and the last thing she ever said to me was go to your room, and I was only four I was only a baby and I didn't care that she yelled at me or lied to me and I'd cry myself numb until I couldn't feel or remember anything.

But I didn't. I saw her, on the ground, and I thought, _she's dead_. I knew she was. And it felt kinda like a relief, to know that, but I knew I was s'pose to feel guilty, but I didn't, I didn't feel anything, cuz my insides were already all numb.

Funny how I still remember all this. But getting rid of an image like that isn't easy. What I remember most Is feeling the betrayal. My thoughts create my world. But how do I control my thoughts? I feel guilty for not crying. I feel guilty for not not going up to my room. And I feel guilty for doubting my mom, for picturing her dead when she wasn't. Oh do I feel guilty... But that's nothing compared to what I feel about Beatrix Kiddo. The Bride. The Black Mamba.

Mother fucken' Black Mamba.

Some people say loath, or detest, or hate, or shit like that, but they don't feel strong enough to me. How do you feel about someone who ripped your fuckin' life away before it even began? I was just a baby, and I watched and listened with an empty heart as my mother died. I waited in front of her lifeless body for an hour until my music instructor Sarah came and found me, standing and staring in a blood splattered room before the sweaty corpse of my mommy. Eyes drained of emotion.

What would you think?

I've had a lot of thoughts. I picture killing Beatrix Kiddo, stabbing her, shooting her, choking her, and running over her with a car over and over, or just stomping her long face in with my foot while her daughter she talked about watches. And I look at her and I see her pain and I don't feel bad at all, and I don't feel good, I just feel numb, but it's a good numb, cuz I don't feel bad about it.

My thoughts create my world. That's what my mom told me. I think, therefore, I am. I've been waiting for a long time to Kill Kiddo, but I think she's already dead. She died twenty years ago, when she took that first step through the door of my house. Beatrix Kiddo is dead, and I know she is Dead, because I've watched her die. A million times, a million ways. But she's dying for good soon. She isn't gonna suffer to her last breath. She isn't gonna be torn apart. She's just gonna look up at me, and ask me not to kill her in front of her baby, or baby's babies, or whoever. And I'll hear her.

But I won't listen.

* * *

Well that's it for now. I am open to any reviews, suggestions, remarks, flames, and spare change if you have any. This writing doesn't pay for itself. 

See ya!


	2. Into the Blood Red Sunset

Authors Note: Welcome back. It's been a while. I had a bunch of problems with the second chapter. I won't bore you with any of them, I will just say that I had to re-write this about three times, and my sweat, blood and tears went into this chapter and I hope you enjoy it and I'll leave it at that.

Disclaimer: Do I look like Quentin Tarantino to you? (Granted, technically you can't see me…)

**Kill Kiddo Chapter Two**

Location: North America, Mexico

Date: 9/23/24

The highway in front of me stretched on for miles, and disappears in the red and pink sunset, and here I am, fallin' asleep at the wheel. I know, that's how accidents get started—but gimme a break. I just got off a six-hour flight, and before that, a ten hour. Now I got, what? About an hour and a half to get to the hotel, then two hours to where I need to be. Then, assuming of course I survive my mission, it's on to my next destination, and gawd knows where that could be. I'm crossing my fingers for Hawaii or the Bahamas, but knowing my luck, it's destined to be either some crappy third world country, or a thug central.

No rest for the weary, huh?

I hold the wheel with one hand and let my fingers linger to my sai swords. I'm itching to take them out, to fight with them, hell just to have them in my hands. I realize how dependent I've come to be of my weapons. It scares me. But I've been using them for so long that it's become inevitable—I can't keep my fingers from twitching without them. They are the most valuable position I have. Although, when one takes into consideration that I sold my cozy Tokyo home, and that the only things I posses right now is this car and the suitcase filled with clothes, a hair comb and a tooth brush that's sitting in the back seat, it's instantly obvious that my sai swords are the only thing I have worth anything, much less the most valuable thing I have.

Huh. No. Actually, for the first time in a year, they aren't the most valuable things I have. I lower my hand from my sheathe to my pocket. It stands stiff.

Yep. Still there.

A folded piece of paper lies in my pocket. Torn at the edges, and folded four times. It's ripped, it's worn, at one point I think I might have absentmindedly used it as a coaster, and it's the single thing that's going to help me on my quest.

I got it exactly three days ago. Back in Okinawa.

**Flash Back**

Note- the following conversation in italics has been translated from Japanese.

The wind blew the cloth covering the doorway up, and maybe just to spite me, blew my hair I had just brushed back into my face. _Grrrrrrrr_. I stared blankly at my hair wrapped around my sushi. Next time, I gotta remember the fuckin' soy sauce. Why don't I just save everyone the trouble, and poor it on my head now?

I drop my chopsticks. I'm not hungry anymore.

I've been dreaming of this day, always just one step behind that last stepping stone, ya know? Now, however, I'm having doubts. Never did I think I would find the information I needed in a tourist oriented sushi bar.

I glanced back at the bar from my table. The bald guy finished writing on the scrap of paper yawned and went into the back room. He said something to someone. The person called him a lazy bastard. Then on cue, an elder man walked out muttering something.

No question. This was my guy. And…shit, he just caught me lookin' at him.

"_What are you doing sitting back there in the dark_?" he asked me.

I didn't say anything.

"_Do you want to be left alone_?" he inquired.

"I am alone." I whispered in English.

"_What was that_?" he called.

"_I said, would you mind if I sat with you at the bar_?" I called.

The man gestured to a seat and smiled warmly. I picked up my food and walked up to him.

"_We are not always so empty here you know. We just don't get many customers so late._" He explained.

"_It's a lovely restaurant_." I said. The man smiled and began to prepare some fresh roles.

"_I've had it for almost fifty years_." He said smiling.

"_That long, huh_?"

"_Yes_," he said, sharpening a knife. "_It is my greatest achievement_."

Then he put down the knife.

"_You speak with an accent. Are you from America_?"

"_Originally_." I replied. "_Now I'm from Tokyo_."

"_Really? What brings you to the island of Okinawa_?" he asked, smiling.

"_Business related, I guess_." I responded.

"_Oh? Are you on vacation_?"

"_I wish. I'm on tour_." I laughed, sipping my ice water.

"_Tour? Are you putting on a show_?"

"_Sorta. I'm a story teller_."

"_Really? What type of stories_?"

"_All kinds_." I said, smiling back.

He picked up the knife, and with barely noticing, flipped it into the air, caught it, and started cutting the rolls again.

"_Any chance I could hear any_?" he asked.

"_If I told stories for free, I wouldn't make much money_." I said.

We both laughed. Then I sighed. I looked at my glass of water.

"_There is one story I could tell you. A short one_." I said.

"_Really_?"

I nodded.

"_Once upon a time, a long-long time ago, there was a woman. She was smart, beautiful, but she was missing something inside. A little like me. You see, like me, she had been hurt badly by someone. She felt the sting left by being branded a victim, and she, not unlike I, could not move on until it was gone_, " I began.

The man's smile started to fade. He was definitely cutting slower.

I turned around in my seat so I could feel the wind blowing in from the entrance.

"_Like me, she wanted to make the people who hurt her pay. She wanted to taste revenge_." I said.

The man stopped cutting altogether. I turned around, so my back was facing him.

"_So one day, like me, she came to a small empty sushi bar, not unlike this one. She came there for help. You see, revenge is often engulfed in blackness, and she needed a lantern. And he, this man at the sushi bar gave her one. But this, however, is where the similarities between that woman and I end. You see, while she received her light in the dark, my revenge is still a little dim_," I said.

I heard a swoosh.

I met Hattori's samurai sword with my twin sai swords, catching his in the V shape my two swords made. Twisting my wrists, I disarmed him easily, pushing his samurai sword down on the table.

"Gotcha!" I said in English. Hattori blinked. I put my two sword back in their sheathes. Then I looked back at the samurai sword on the counter.

"Beautiful sword. Fine sheath, nice handle. No scratches. Screw this crappy sushi man, this is your greatest achievement!" I laughed.

I narrowed my eyes.

" I however, was under the impression you were out of practice."

Hattori picked up his sword.

"Things change," Hattori said, sliding his sword back in its sheathe.

"Indeed, they do," I responded.

"_I've heard of you_," he said. " _I knew it would be a matter of time before you came_."

"_I've grown infamous you could say. How did you hear about me_?"

"_They said someone was looking for me_."

"_Who is 'they'_?"

"_Everyone_." He answered dryly.

"_Well, they were right then. It took me a long time to track you down, you know that_?"

"_You didn't have to track me down to find out I would not help you_." he said, turning to go into the back room.

"_Wait_," I cried.

He didn't. Why don't people ever listen to me?

I hopped over the counter and blocked him.

"_Don't walk away from me_." I said.

"_You are not allowed behind the bar_." He said quickly.

"_Hear me out, will you_?" I asked.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say." He said, trying to duck under me.

"Ah, but do you really have a choice?" I asked, cocking my eyebrows.

Hattori grabbed his sword off the table and slashed it at me. I ducked down, and slid under his legs.

He turned around, but I pulled my sai swords out. He tried to slash at me, but I met his sword each time with the two of mine. Never the less, he was pushing me back.

I spun my left sword and stepped to the side. This time, I blocked his sword with just one, and I pushed the other one to his left temple. He moved back, as I anticipated, and I turned in front of him, holding out the single sai sword. He met it of course, and by putting my second sword at the base of his, I pushed his sword back. Hattori stumbled, and I jumped over him onto the counter, holding both sai swords out at him. He backed up against the wall, and I hopped down, making my swords into a V again and pinning back his.

"I said don't walk away. It's disrespectful." I whispered.

"_WHAT THE FUCK_?" someone called.

Bald guy.

"_WHAT IS THIS BIG MESS IN HERE? I JUST CLEAN EVERYTHING UP!_!" bald guy yelled.

"Hey." I said.

"_I'M NOT GOING TO CLEAN IT UP AGAIN, NUH-UH! YOU CAN CLEAN IT YOURSELF!_" he cried.

"Hey!" I said.

"_If customer doesn't like food, then_—"

He stepped out of the way and noticed us, me pinning back Hattori's sword behind the counter.

"_WHAT IS THIS_!" he yelled.

I closed my eyes and laughed.

"_I could use some tea_." I said, opening my eyes and smiling slightly. I looked at Hattori.

"_TEA? You make big mess, you try_—"

"_YOU GET HER THE GODDAMN TEA, FOOL!"_ Hattori yelled.

Bald guy growled and ran back into the kitchen. Hattori loosened his grip on his sword.

"I don't want to be held accountable for any more killings." He said, looking at his own sword.

"Don't hold yourself in such high opinion. I already have my lanterns." I said. To demonstrate, I pushed my swords forward and pulled them back. Hattori flinched and fell to the ground. He looked up at me, stunned.

"_I didn't come here to kill you. I didn't come here for Japanese Steel either_." I said, holding out my hand and helping him up.

"_All I want_," I said, pulling a pen and paper out of my pocket. "_All I need is a name_."

Hattori took the paper and pen. He thought.

"_A name_?" he asked.

"_Anyone who might know anything. Anyone who knows anyone. Just write their name down_." I said.

Hattori put the paper down.

"I know as much as you know. I didn't pry after She left. If anything, I tried to avoid any information that might have come my way. I am sorry for you, and I feel guilty, but I know nothing about Her. Anyone I might have known is dead, " he said, looking down.

"Well, what about Bill?" I asked.

Hattori stopped breathing.

"…What about Bill?" he asked slowly.

"He was a student of yours for a long time. You must be acquainted with someone he knew… someone who is in the loop."

Hattori didn't say anything.

That was a yes.

"_Who are you_?" Hattori finally asked.

" _Who am I? Who was SHE? She was the survivor. The assassin, the hero, the fighter, the lioness. Me? I'm just another victim. But like Her, I wont let myself die one. I want payback. Revenge. I want to taste vengeance_." I said, looking at him.

He shook his head.

"Do you think you can beat Her?" he asked.

"Think? I don't think. I act. I move." I answered. "If I really thought things through, I would know I didn't stand a chance against her. Am I right?"

Hattori looked me over. His eyes rested for a moment on the Copperhead tattoo on my neck. Then he looked back at my sheathed swords.

"You are talented. But you are no match to her." He responded.

I smiled.

"That's what I used to think. But I have something she doesn't have anymore. I have drive. I still desire revenge. And I will do whatever it takes." I said.

I look down to my swords.

She needs to pay." I whisper.

I walked over to him and pushed the paper in front of him.

"All I need is a name. Please." I asked.

Hattori was still. Staring off into space. Thinking.

Trying to decide.

He snatched up the pen and wrote on the paper.

"_I don't wish you luck. I don't wish you failure either. I respect Beatrix Kiddo_."

He laid the pen down.

"But I respect you as well. And I think … She would want me to help you." he said.

"_She's been waiting_." I said.

Hattori slid the paper over to me. He turned to go back to the other room. Almost as an afterthought, he stopped in the doorway.

"You never finished the story." He said to me.

I picked up the paper and looked at it.

"No," I said, folding the paper in my pocket. "This story's just beginning."

**End Flashback**

I flipped the car to Auto Drive and sunk down into my seat. Man, could I use some sleep. I've been driving all day. I tilted my seat back, and granted all control to my cars Auto Drive. I'm not the normally kinda person who trusts those things a lot, but c'mon. I need a break. Yeesh.

Besides, I need to conserve my energy. If I am to pull of the havoc I have in store for tomorrow, I need to be well rested.

Then again, it could all just be a huge waste of time and the person I want could already be dead and I could get shot up for nothing, but it's a chance I'm willing to make, and one I make every time. Call me reckless.

I yawn and lean back. I stare off into the distance, where the road disappears into the red sky. Before I can nod off, I glance down and read the name, that name I've already memorized and the one I know is there, but the one I need to read just one more time, a million times until I find him.

_**Esteban Vihaio  
**_

* * *

Well, that's it for now. I assure you the third chapter will not take another four months. In fact…it's already been written. It's just waiting to be updated. 

But I want to see you little minions squirm.

Also—if any are wondering about the Sai swords Nikki uses, they are used amongst ninjas, and are very good defense against samurai swords. google 'em if you want to see some good pictures.


	3. The Boys of Acuna

Author's Note: this was actually the first chapter I ever wrote. I had to rewrite it a bit. We finally get to see what Nikki is capable of.

Disclaimer: Quentin owns everything. He owns Beatrix, he owns Bill, and he owns Nikki. So everyone, kiss up to him as much as you can, and maybe he will pull the gum off his shoe and stick it on your nose or something. Run. Flock to him, sheep! You know you like him better!!!

….where did everyone go?

**K**I_LL_** K**I_DD_O**: C**hapter **T**hree.

**Location**: Memory Lane

**Date**:5/12/03

"Baby, what's wrong?" mommy asks me.

First the colors. Black, white, brown, yellow, and blue. Then the smell. Cotton candy, popcorn, hotdogs, and people. The sound comes next: laughing, yelling, and music.

"I'll talk to you in a minute, baby. I'm on the phone with daddy." Mommy says.

I sit back on the bench and look over at the merry-go-round. It still hasn't started yet.

"Lawrence, are you meeting us back at the hotel room? Yes…yeah no baby. Nikki isn't feeling good. No…hold it. You do not have to work late. I know what a business trip is. You know, I spend all day long with Nikki, and she don't hardly get ta see you at home. I don't get to see you. No. No Lawrence. N. O." she spits into her cell phone.

I start crying.

Mom hangs up the phone mid sentence.

"Nikki, I can't fix the problem if you don't tell me what it is." She says.

I point my finger to the big girl who stole my horse on the merry go round.

"She pushed me. She took my horse." I sob.

I thought mommy would say, aww don't cry. I thought she would tell me to stop being such a brat. I thought she would tell me to wait till next time.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me up to the merry go round. She went to the center, where the man who operated the machine stood.

"Excuse me, do you think you could wait a little longer?" she asks.

"Whatever." The guy shrugs.

Mommy drags me over to my horse and the mean kid.

"Whose child is this?!?" she yells.

The sounds stop. The laughter stops, the talking stops. The music stays on, but nobody is hearing it.

"I'll ask again: WHOSE CHILD IS THIS???" my mom demands.

Finally, a woman approaches us, looking pissed off and worn out.

"What is it?" she asks, embarrassed and annoyed.

"Your child stole my baby girls horse." Mommy says.

"You know what? This isn't the only horse. There are tons of horses,"—

"I don't think you heard me," my mommy says. "Nikki was getting on the horse. Your selfish little girl pushed her _out _of the way so she could sit her own little ass up there. I'm a magic Jeanie. Know what I see in my crystal ball? I see your little brat getting bailed outa jail 'cuz her momma didn't tell her that you don't take something that isn't yours, and you never, _ever_ push another person."

The woman is baffled. So is the big girl. The mom tells the girl to get down. The girl does that. She makes her apologies. They both run off of the merry go round, and into the parking lot.

Mommy picks me up, and straps me into the horse.

"Hold on tight now, 'kay baby?" she says. I nod enthusiastically. She starts to walk away.

"Mommy!?" I cry.

"Yeah, baby?" she asks.

"Do you want to ride with me?" I ask.

Mommy smiles and turns around. She jumps up on the horse next to mine. The merry go round starts, and the music gets louder. She yells GIDDY-UP! And slaps the horses butt. She's leading all the other horses—Black, white, brown, yellow, and blue.

She's a superhero.

**Location**: North America- Mexico

**Date**: 9/24/24

I sat up and drained the rest of my tequila sunrise, then slammed the glass on the table next to a bouquet of white roses and my shot glasses. There are more then a couple, but the way I figure it, I won't be drivin' for a while. Least not until the Acuna Boys show up. I look down, fiddling with the sash on my peasant skirt. It's a pain in the ass- let me tell ya- to wear something so reveling… so _vulnerable_. It would save me a shit load of trouble if I could just wear what I always do—jeans and a t-shirt, but I doubt I'll be able to pull off what I want to go down unless I dressed the part. Tourist-y.

I look up, across the counter of the bar. The bartender has been sitting in the same place, same position he was in for the past three hours. Every ten minutes he looks over at me, and lifts his head a little, asking if I want another drink. Every five times he does it, I push out my glass and say hit me, as to not seem suspicious.

The only other people who reside within this fucked up bar—cleverly named La Casa De La Cacto, are: several mariachi types in the back, three ugly retired prostitutes, and an ancient gray haired man who peers over at me from behind his newspaper. The mariachis do too. Keep lookin' at me.

Wonder why?

No tourist who knew the shit on this place would come to it, and no tourist who didn't would come to it, because from the outside, it's as repelling as maggot covered road kill, which seems to be the theme the owner used when he decorated.

I hate skirts. My legs are cold.

What I heard next almost made me clap my hands to my ears. Motorcycles. Round sixty of them. The roar of them was deafening. Boys and girls- the wait is ova. I tapped my leg with anticipation. The prostitutes smiled and straightened up, and the mariachis grabbed their guitar cases and fled out the swinging door. One of them took his time, getting all his shit together. Dumb fuck. He was about halfway to the door before he realized the error he made. Too late. The doors slammed open, each one sending a loud echo off the wall. The Acuna Boys strutted into the bar, their handguns tucked into their pants; their mouths pulled back in the most tight-lipped sneers.

Pffffff. Wannabe-gangstas.

The mariachi jumped to a seat. The old man buries his face in his newspaper. The bartender looks up.

"No slam door!!!!!!!!!!!!" he shouts at them.

You can tell he aint for real, 'cuz the spot around the door has a dent from being slammed so much. The Boys make their way to the counter, smiling at the prostitutes (their momma's) and ripping the newspaper out of the old mans hands. One of the younger show offs makes it a point to go up to the mariachi. He growls something at him.

The mariachi throws all his money on the table. Without a word, he runs out the door. He left his guitar. The boy laughs and grabs it, slinging the strap of the case around his shoulder.

This is a small taste of what the Acuna Boys can do. Want more? Well, picture three old buildings going up in flames, the streets covered with the festering remains of bullet hole ridden dogs, and a truck driven into the river with five weighted down and alive hookers. That's about half. Things have gone out of control since Esteban became bed ridden. He's no longer so intimidating, and the new generation of his army is not so faithful. They will obey him, yes—but should he pass away during his sickness, this town will rot from the inside out.

See, Esteban made his mark. Acuna will die along with him.

The Boys crowd around the counter, as the bartender passes out drinks. They push, pass, trade, swear, yell and punch at each other. I take of my sunglasses, and take a deep breath, rolling my eyes. I run my fingers through my straightened hair. Then leaning over, I pick a single rose out of my bouquet and pretend to smell it.

The boy who has the guitar sees me doing this, then with a smile to his Boys, walks over and sits next to me.

"Hola, chica bonita," he slurs into my face. Foul.

"And hello to you, too." I say back. He tilts his eyebrows. I take my shot glass under the table.

"Ahhhh. Tu es inges." he says, nodding.

"Correcto-mundo." I answer. He blows me a kiss. I hold glass and run my finger along the edge.

"I know English. I know English very, very well." he smiles.

"Do ya now?" I ask, leaning forward. He puts his mouth to my ear.

"Si, senorita..." he whispers. The other Boys laugh at him.

"So, could you tell me… where's Esteban?" I ask. His smile fades.

"What you want with a dirty old man like Esteban?" he asks, tracing my cheek with his finger.

"He's on his death bed. Gotta pay my last respects," I answer.

In my hand, I push the glass up against my palm. I pull my hand up and examine the impression it made.

"He… no es fit for visitors. Leave me message... and I _may_ tell him," he says. He winks.

I smile at him. I reach out and touch his face.

"Tell him not to open his eyes so wide." I said.

"Huh?" he slurred as I yanked his face towards me. His eyes widen. The heads of the Acuna boys turn to watch.

I plunged the shot glass into his eye socket. I twist and pull it back. His Boys wince at the faint squishy _POP!_ sound.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" he yells, yanking his hand to his face. Blood sprays across me. He slides out of his stool, and falls to the floor, where he yells and cries, holding his loose eye close to his face. I lick the blood off my lips. The familiar taste of metal and liquid pain fills my mouth. It's been along time since I've smelt it. Tasted it. Caused it.

Blood. It is disgusting, it is beautiful, it is familiar, and it will always be home to me.

I stare into the red shot glass, wondering if it would be sadistic to lick it dry in front of the boy as he coils and reels on the floor. Doubt he could see me.

Gawd, I _really_ am fucked up.

The other boys pushed back all confused, grabbing for their guns. I jumped over the counter and ducked. The back wall, which was a mess of bottles and shelves, took a big hit. Alcohol sprayed everywhere. I looked for something I could use.

_Where the hell did the bartender go?  
_  
I heard a creak as a fishbowl on the counter started to leak. I yanked it off the counter top, and after removing the gold fish and putting it in my right hand, I cracked the fishbowl into a bunch of tiny pieces.

I jumped up on top of the bar. Every one turned to face me. I threw the shards at them, catching about ten Boys square in the eye's and forehead.

While heads turned again to see what had just taken out their fellow Boys, I yanked a gun out of ones hand. I shot, and counted how many fell. One. Two. Five. Seven.

Gun empty. But there weren't so many people crowding me now.

With the clear space, I jumped and grabbed onto the ceiling fan, letting it spin me around while I kicked the faces of the Boys with my studded sandal-bearing feet. As I spun, I reached into my sash and eased out my sai swords.

Someone threw a bottle at me.

On reflex, I pulled up, and wrapping my legs around the fan, sliced randomly with my sai swords. I kick off from the fan, and slide down the counter with my arms out, slicing any Boys near me almost clean in half.

A bullet whizzes past me at the end of the counter. I instinctively tuck my legs in when I should have been ready to do a flip. A life and death mistake that anyone could make.

_Shit._

I fall to the ground. A mess of blood and beer. I roll over onto my back. The bartender is staring down at me.

Pointing his machine gun directly between my eyes.

I scan my surroundings. A bottle of beer to the right of me. Broken glass to the left of me, some paper bills, nothing. I looked at the bartender. He had something in his jean pocket. Rectangular. A lighter. Bingo.

Slipping out of my sandals, I kicked him hard in the groin, then pushed the lighter out of his pocket and held onto it with my toes. I rolled out of he way of his gun, and grabbed the bottle of beer.

"HEY!" I yelled.

Forty guns point at my head. I held up the bottle and the lighter.

The Boys lower their guns obediently.

"Is anybody here _not_ covered in alcohol?!?! How 'bout the floor?" I asked.

The boys backed up.

"It's your choice, boys. I go down, so does the whole goddamn place. Now, does somebody want to give me directions?" I asked.

Silence.

"Now, where is Esteban?" I asked.

Forty hands point out the back door at the same time. I smiled.

"See how much _easier _that was then fighting?" I say, wiping my sai swords off with the paper bills.

I hear a loud moan come from the ground. I look behind me. The boy whose eye I had dislodged.

"And you," I said, walking over and kicking the boy. "Are coming with me."

The boy whimpered and with one hand, he pushed himself to his feet. The other hand he used to hold his eyeball close to his face.

"Hold it." I say.

Eyeless freezes, shaking where he stands.

I walk back behind the bar and pick up my bouquet of flowers. I shake them to get the blood off, but it has a nice contrast against the white. I tuck them under my shoulder and, grabbing Eyeless hard by the shoulder, push him out the back door.

We made our way down a rocky trail, surrounded by banana trees and cactus. I close my eyes and listen. I can hear crickets. Birds chirping. The heavy breaths Eyeless takes in as he moves. He's still shaking. I let go of his shoulder and allow him to walk a few steps ahead of me. He leads me across a wooden bridge. I stop for a moment, staring into the calm pool. Fish dart out between the vegetation growing on the waters surface. Streaks of gray, black, and white.

I stare into my reflection on the water. I'm breathing deeply, drenched in sweat and blood. I can't feel any of it. I thought I was smiling, but I'm not.

I slowly unclench my right hand, and drop the gold fish down into the water. The fish sinks a few inches before twitching it's tail, and swimming away.

* * *

I hope you all enjoyed chapter three. Chapter four is written, but i'm waiting for my fith review to post it. Or December the 20th.

Whichever comes first.

Poll : do you want Kiddo to get killed? why or why not?

Answer at the bottom of your review. : )


	4. The Fucked Up Life of Nikkia Bell

Authors Note: Happy 2007! I am sorry my prediction that this chapter would come out on Dec 20 was wrong. See, it was the last day of school, and like a fool I believed that all my problems of Spanish, math, and history would vanish and be replaced by a new chapter, all shiny and new and ready for updating. Instead, I spent two solid days doing math so I wouldn't get a C. but now it's done, and so is this chapter, with the correct spelling, punctuation, and dialogue included. (On a related note, I get A's in English.)

Disclaimer: I don't own what Quentin owns. If I did, it would probably be one of his samurai swords, and not the rights to Kill Bill. I recently got to hold a samurai sword, and it was one of the coolest things I've ever held. Then someone threw a baseball at me and I sliced it in half. I was happy…until I realized Quentin owned that action as well. But enough of my banter. ON WITH THE FANFIC!

Kill Kiddo: Chapter Four

"_I turn my eyes away, from this whole world. I run so far away from me—this girl_."--Nana/Yaya: Othello Vol. 7

Well, I guess you could say I've been puttin' it off, but the rest of the story isn't going to make much sense unless you know a little bit more about me. The story of my life isn't one I like to reminisce about. There are so many things I missed out on, so much I regret. I could easily write fifty pages, and I still wouldn't have scratched the surface of what made me what I am now, but I can't afford the time. So you'll just have to settle for a summarization, and I'll get back to the important parts when the time comes. So…Deep Breath…here it goes.

After the painful death of my mother, my dear old daddy thought it best to not only remove me from the home of the traumatizing experience, but to move us from Pasadena all together. He had no problem affording this, because someone had taken out a huge life-insurance policy on my mom about three days before she died. So he moved us to LA.

Okay. You can stop laughing now.

We scored a cozy Condo in Beverly Hills. My dad brought home gold-digger after gold-digger, eager to try to find me a new mommy while I was so young. Instead, he isolated me at the time I need a parent the most.

I didn't talk very much, and when I did, I would only say a few words at a time. I had a private tutor for a whiles, but I drove her nuts. Seriously. She ran out of the house screaming.

I thought that was funny.

I was finally enrolled in a private school at age six. Not wanting to make any relationships (only to be later ripped away) I buried myself in schoolwork. I struggled to learn to read better then everyone else. When I completed that task, I set forth and read every book in the class library. I was the smartest kid in the class, and man did it feel great. I was friendless, I had no mommy, I never saw my daddy, and I was perfectly content with being numb.

When I was eight, they upped me to fifth grade. My dad got married, and step momma Sara insisted on enrolling me in an extra curriculum. Having a choice between baton and cheerleading, I took baton. There were fewer kids in that. I felt a certain weight lift when I started doing baton, so I took up gymnastics and fencing as well. I stuck with all of them for four years, but I loved fencing. I channeled all my emotion—hate, rage, sadness, and loneliness into stabbing away at the faceless people in front of me. For some reason, I had no trouble placing a face on them. This, these harmless sports were to become the foundation for a killer.

When I was eleven, my dog Barney died.

The next day, a boy made fun of my eyebrows in homeroom. I stabbed him with my scissors and sent him to the ER.

They sent me to a million shrinks. Each one costing a fortune, and each one said the same thing—that I had buried my emotions when my mother died, and they were starting to violently resurface.

I said I wanted my Barney back.

I scared everyone around me. I spoke quietly and slowly and I would stare everyone in the eye like I was a snake. I would hiss at people. I scared away my dads' wife. I scared my dad. So much, he took up longer hours at the hospital. Tried to postpone coming home.

I saved him the trouble and ran away.

I caught a bus and went north to Oakland. Using a mix of what I learned from fencing, gymnastics, and baton (yes, baton) I was accepted into a gang. I didn't get along with a bunch of them, but there were a few truly nice girls who let me stay at their house.

I was twelve when I heard the name Black Mamba again after eight years.

Black Mamba had been the prize of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. The best of the best, top of the line. When I heard her name used with that Bill's, I new it was the same. Lucky for me, I had been struck with a case of being in the right place at the right time: in the underworld, even just petty street gangs, Black Mamba was a name on the hearts and tongues of every street urchin and villain.

Unfortunately, someone had recognized me, and I was brought back to my father.

But I wasn't upset. I was ecstatic. Old memories came flooding back, and one in particular seemed to resurface over and over.

"_If you grow up, and you still feel raw about it…I'll be waiting."_

I won't leave you waiting, Beatrix Kiddo. You need to pay for what you did to my mom. _For what you did to me_.

I put on a fake smile and acted well adjusted for daddy's sake. But I silently researched and interviewed and used everything I could find to learn about Black Mamba.

The other snakes in the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad included Cottonmouth, California Mountain Snake, River Sidewinder, and Copperhead. They were infamous, known for their knowledge in martial arts, well-executed moves, and lack of mercy. They dismantled in 1999, when Black Mamba went missing. Three months later, Copperhead and River Sidewinder resigned. Cottonmouth stuck around for a while, but then departed to Tokyo, and as for California Mountain Snake she retired, but a lot of records show she still did the occasional job for Bill. It occurred to me one of these could very well be my mother, so I did a background check.

I finally came up with a hit. Verneda Green—aka Copperhead. A teen runaway herself, she was proficient in Ju Jit Su, Kung Fu, and was also noted to be extremely proficient with rifles and edge weapons.

I had found her. My mom, the superhero…_a killer_. Somehow, it didn't register in my head. My mom was the good guy, Black Mamba was the bad guy, and I was to continue in my mothers' footsteps and avenge her death.

I went crazy, and asked to be enrolled in a martial art. The only one my dad could find was karate. Goju-Ryu to be exact. I was disappointed a little—karate was such a common martial art. But once again, I felt the weight of every pent up emotion I had lift, and after five years of intense training, I got my black belt. I celebrated by getting a yin-yang tattooed on my ankle. My dad celebrated by buying me a car. I didn't complain about that.

During school, I was oblivious to the peer pressure around me. I could very well have been swept up in all the sex drugs and tears in the midst of my depression, but my depression was over baby. I was regarded as a tough-girl, a smart-girl, and a loner. O the first day of high school, I stabbed a girl who was giving me shit to a desk with my pen. I wasn't kicked out because I had perfect scores on my PSAT, and the girl I had stabbed hadn't even taken them, so we were both sent to three weeks suspension, and I was referred to the school shrink. I learned that day that some people's lives are worth more then others.

Senior year I got into another fight. A boy spread a rumor he got lucky with me. The boys came to confront me after school on the football field. Whatever his name was, he was all laughing at me, calling me a slut and a bitch, and everyone was laughing. I closed my eyes, and breathed in deeply, trying to find my center.

"Gonna cry?" the boy teased.

I pulled out my car keys and jammed them into his eye.

"Fucken bitch!!!!!" his friend yelled, trying to grab me.

Then, I did something most people go their whole lives without doing. I grabbed his neck in my hands and twisted. I didn't kill him, but I sent him to the hospital for almost a year. He ended up in a wheel chair. His buddy lost his eye.

I had pretty much outgrown Beverley Hills, so I left. My dad didn't bother to look for me.

Black mamba had reemerged in 2003. She went on a noisy killing spree, and didn't bother to cover her tracks. She disappeared along with Bill, 2004. Vanished, after killing more then a hundred people.

I took more martial arts, but I never stuck to them for long. I did meet up with a former male gang member from Oakland, and together we rented out a crummy apartment. I was seventeen, I was 5'8 and I weighed one hundred and thirty-two pounds. I got a job as a cashier at Macy's, and after work I took kickboxing for a while. I took my first paycheck and got a tattoo of a copperhead on my neck.

I went into silent despair when I was fired for showing up late. I started thinking, _who was I kidding_? Beatrix took Tiger Crane, Kung Fu, five other martial arts I couldn't even begin to pronounce, and worked a Samurai Sword through a person like a knife through butter. What had I done? Four years of gymnastics, fencing, _baton_, a black belt in Goju-Ryu, a purple belt in Ju-Jitsu and six months of Kick Boxing. Beatrix Kiddo would snap me in half like a toothpick. I thought about calling it a quits. My roomy, (who had changed his name from I-don't-know-what to Ka-Boom at my suggestion) was into some pretty bad shit, and after having the police show up again and again and again, I finally moved out.

When I was living in my car in front of the kickboxing studio, I befriended my kickboxing instructor Pete Marsters. Pete found me sleeping in my car one night, said if I had nowhere to go, I could sleep at his place. Put politely, we did everything but. However, Pete was a truly nice guy, and helped me get back on my feet. While living with Pete, I did manage to catch the eye of several Hollywood moviemakers with my tall, muscular frame and martial arts expertise. I did some stunt-double work under the name Nicole Gray. When I was offered a lead part in a martial-arts sci-fi production, I quickly retreated. I couldn't afford to show my face.

Pete and I left LA and moved to New York, where he was getting a bigger studio. He showed me some new moves, and introduced me to some pals of his, including Sensei Asakawa, an expert on martial arts. Asakawa had moved from Japan. She taught me a lot, and I gained some valuable information from her.

Her brother, Minoru had been crippled by the Black Mamba during a fight at The House Of Blue Leaves.

I was nineteen then, and on the eve of the New Year, I flew out with Asakawa to Osaka to meet her brother. Her brother had trained as a ninja until his arm had been severed fifteen years prior to our encounter, while he was part of a gang called the Crazy 88. He was delighted in meeting me, and directed me to someone named Ozu, who theoretically was the greatest martial arts master alive. I trained for three years and six months. With Ozu teaching me, I became almost fluent in Japanese, as well as some moves that I once thought were impossible. Already nimble-fingered from my years of baton, I trained with double broadsword, shorter and blunter then samurai swords. I never liked samurai swords that much.

When I came back to New York, Pete asked me to marry him. I said no. We stayed friends. Good friends. But I was not comfortable in New York. I entered an ultimate fighting ring and emerged the champion, defeating over twenty champion fighters and winning over two hundred thousand dollars.

But I scared Pete. I scared him too much. Not just how I took down every five hundred pound male that I went up against. He was afraid of the power I had, and how I used it so recklessly. He told me to stop fighting, because he didn't want to see me hurt.

I left him. I'd been hurting all my life, and if he couldn't see that physical pain is nothing compared to the kind inside you, he didn't know jack shit.

I was ready to begin my search for Beatrix, and I thought what better way then to follow my mom's lead? _After all, if I'm gonna kill Beatrix, then I might as well get some practice_. So I moved to Tokyo. Minoru directed me to an agent he knew. Richard. Richard didn't have anything organized like Bill did, but he did have people he could call up when some millionaire or politician wanted a job done quick, and a job done right. So I tracked him down, and showed up right when he was in a tough spot. I helped him out, and he gave me a chance under the code name Baby Cobra.

Within months, I was Ricky's number one. Over the next year, I proved myself to Ricky and a lot of other people. Look up the top twenty most dangerous female assassins. I'm somewhere between fourteen and eighteen. Needless to say, with skills like mine, I had a few people lining up to get me to work for them. I ended up becoming the private bodyguard of Boss Hikuru, who held the position that Cottonmouth held nineteen years prior. I took that job for one reason, and one reason only—to find out more about Beatrix.

In the spring of 2024, I had felt as if I met a dead end. I didn't have any lead on where Beatrix Kiddo was, and neither Minoru, Boss Hikuru, or Ricky knew anything. Also, after working for Ricky for almost a year and a half (and sleeping with him once) I learned what a pain in the ass that guy could be. Seriously. I could be in a private meeting with Boss Hikuru, and the guy would just walk in like he owned the place (and let me assure you, walking in on a meeting with key ringleaders of the Tokyo Underworld is not an easy thing to do). So I decided to quit working with Boss Hikuru after making two million dollars. Ricky still called me every once in a while to help him out, and sometimes when Boss Hikuru's current bodyguards showed up dead, I would do a substitution until he could get a replacement.

One day, on the streets of Tokyo, I met up with a legend called The Samurai. After twenty years of merciless killing, he was ready to call a quits, and decided to pass on his weapon less he be tempted to pick up his old habits. I received from him the most valuable thing I could ever have. It wasn't just the two sharp edged sai swords he gave me. It was something to hope for.

The hope that I might one day sink these swords into Beatrix Kiddos heart.

Or brain or liver or any other major internal organ. Believe me, after the shit Ricky had me doing, I really wasn't picky.

This hope snapped me into a sensible idea—while virtually nothing was known about Beatrix, her master The Snake Charmer was infamous. I studied up on Bill, and found one name that linked them together.

_Hattori Honzo._ Bills Sensei. After Hanzo passed on all his worldly knowledge, Bill pulled an Anakin and went to the dark side. He started out a gopher for Boss something-or-other, and eventually became the leader of the most feared assassin squad in the world.

Beatrix Kiddo had gotten Honzo to make her a sword when he had not made one in 28 years.

I figured it was worth a shot to check this guy out. And turns out, I was right.

_Oh man, was I right_.

* * *

I would like to dedicate this chapter to my good friend, Claire. She's in New Zealand, visiting some people she's related to or something, and due to this, was not able to witness the update of my fanfic, as well as the viewing of many movies at the mall (most of them with Robin Williams, many through the TV's at Suncoast), the consumption of a block of cheese and jar of peanut butter, and the hatching of a chicken egg I was incubating with a heating pad. 

I hope you all enjoyed the look into Nikki's past (I hope it sounded realistic. And by that, I mean as realistic as a movie where people can kill people by poking them in the heart five times). I was going to post it at a later time, but realized a shit-load of stuff wouldn't make sense if I didn't post it now. Stay tuned for my upcoming chapter: A Pimp Named Vihaio.

P.S.- has anyone watched Afro Samurai? It is incredibly Kill-Billish. Like, this guy has a samurai sword, and all these other people are attacking him, and someone on the other side of him fires a gun, and he used his sword and cut the bullet into a bunch of pieces and they all shot the guys who were attacking him. It was cool.

Okay—I'm done. Here it is, your moment of Zen. See ya!


	5. A Pimp Named Vihaio

Authors Note- Welcome to the next chapter of my fanfic! I thought I would open it up with some witty banter, useless information about my person, or some reference to either modern pop-culture, or one of the seven books I am writing that no one will understand until they are published. Now that I've successfully executed all four of those, let's get it _on_: this is Chapter Five of Kill Kiddo. In this chapter, not only do you get to see Esteban Vihaio, a main villain may also be emerging.

Disclaimer- the following story is not based on real people, events, or accurate medical instructions. While I do not own the character Nikki, I do own every thought, movement, and fashionable piece of clothing she has.

KILL KIDDO: CHAPTER V

Location: North America: Mexico 

Date: 9/24/24

After ten minutes of walking, the path opened up into dirt ridden clearing. A one-floor house sat besides a disgusting looking lanai, scattered with clothe hammocks and plastic chairs. You could tell the house had recently been built, because a huge patch of grassy land where the forest had been cut back circled it, a clear indication that whoever wanted the house built had expected that it would have been be much bigger. He walked to the screen door on the side, and knocked on it. No one came.

He glanced at me. I narrowed my eyes. He then proceeded to knock rapidly until a frumpy old woman appeared.

"¡Quién es --Francisco! Lo que sucedió?! Ah santo se casa¡Fransisco!!!" she yelled.

"...N-Necesito hablar...a Esteban." Eyeless said slowly.

"Tu…Entra. Entra!!!" she said, throwing up her hands and stomping off.

We walked into the house. Eyeless led me down a long white hallway, decorated in paintings and crosses. I took this time to examine him—he was thin, tall, but not as tall as me, and his face was streaked with tears and blood.

I could see his eye hanging by the optic nerve through his fingers.

He finally stopped at a door. A built in shelf next to the door had a stone and bamboo fountain.

"Mmm…wait...here," the boy mumbled, opening a door and going in.

I stand and tap my foot. I count to a hundred. Two hundred. I let my mind wander to the fountain. I reach in, and pull out a single smooth stone. I squeezed it.

The door opens.

"He...he will see you now," says Eyeless.

I push him out of the way and begin to walk into the room. Then I stop and grab Eyeless by the collar.

"YOU...stay right here." I say, throwing him back to the wall.

"Am I clear?" I ask.

He shivers. An image of me hunting him down and carving out his other eye flashes through his mind. He nods.

"Good." I say, turning back around.

_Start your praying Eyeless, 'cuz you better hope to high heaven I'm in a good mood when I come out.  
_  
The room is cooler inside. A fan is on. In the center of the room, an old withered man sits up in a bed, hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor. A book is face down on the table next to him, and there is a lit cigar in his mouth. Although he is weak and old, his presence is still intimidating.

Esteban Vihaio. He must be a hundred. A hundred and dying.

"Hola," he says, smiling at me. "You must be the one who pulled Francisco's eye out."

I smile back.

"You must be Senor Vihaio," I say.

He holds up a wrinkled hand.

"Please. Call me Esteban." he sighs, and with the same hand, he gestures warmly to a chair between the bed and the table.

I sit down.

"How'd you know I spoke English?" I asked, pulling out the roses.

"Francisco told me. You make quite the impression on him. Are those for me?" he asks, staring at the roses.

"They are."

"Gracias. You would put them in the vase for me?" he said.

I leaned over the hand painted vase, and placed the roses there among the drying carnations.

"It is always nice to get a visitor, especially from a young lady. I am afraid that with the trouble the Boys have been causing, I do not get many of them. Unfortunately, in my condition, punishment has not been as swift as it once was."

"It's a privilege and honor to be able to talk with you, Esteban," I said, surprised how easily his sweetness was rubbing off on me. He noticed it as well, and lowered his glasses.

"Senorita, I am lying on my death bed. Flattery will get you nowhere at dis point."

I shrugged.

"Fair enough. I have something to ask of you," I said.

"You pick a damn good time," Esteban said gesturing to the IV and laughing to himself.

I stiffened my hand around the stone. _Be patient. He's an old guy. You can't kick their asses. They tend to die easier then young people_.

"Better late then never." I said.

He contemplated this.

"True. Si, yes, I will talk to you. I must tell you… the last time I spoke English was twenty years ago. It was with another young American woman. She however, was eh _blonde_," he said.

"Those blondes. If looks could kill, right?" I asked, lowering my eyebrows.

Esteban removed his glasses entirely, and peered down at me.

"Oh. So that is what you come for. No?" he said.

I swept my hair to the side so he could see the snake tattoo on my neck.

"Ahhh...the Copperhead."

"Yeah. What did the blonde come here for?" I asked.

"She came here for directions to where Bill is. I assume you know Bill, correct?"

"The Snake Charmer. Who could forget?"

This caused Esteban to smile.

" It's been a long time since I heard anyone mention that name. So, what is it you want exactly with Beatrix?"

"I want to kill her." I said.

"I figure as much. You should be aware though, she es very hard to a...kill. Bill learn that the hard way."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

Esteban removed the cigar from his mouth.

"Les make a deal," he said, taken a final puff of his cigar before putting it out on the ashtray next to the vase.

"You'll tell me what you know?"

"Only on the condition that you can fix Francisco's eye for him." He said.

"Done deal."

Esteban sat up.

"As far as I am concern, I vas the last person who spoke to Beatrix. I am sorry to say she vanished after I saw her."

I can sum up every emotion that went through me in that one instant using one word, and be it coincidence, it happened to be the very word I though.

Mother_fucker_.

Everything. Just like that. Gone. My hopes that my next plane ride would be to Beatrix's door. Vanished. Just like how she is. I squeeze the stone in my hand. _Harder_. It feels as cold as the bathroom floor felt that day twenty years ago.

"Are you alright?" Esteban asks.

My hand hurts. I look back down. Blood is dripping out of it. I unclasp my hand, and brush the tiny pieces of stone out. I nod.

"I do know," Esteban continued "Something that may be of assistance to you."

I look up from my shredded palm.

"In one of Bill's last phone calls to me, he said that one of his former students who had fallen victim to Beatrix was checking out of the Hospital. You may have heard of Sofie Fatale?" he says.

I slumped down.

"Sofie? O-Ren's Attorney? Yeah, I heard of her. The rat who let the locations of the rest of the Vipers leak. Didn't Kiddo kill her?" I asked.

"Eh…she cut her arm off, but Sofie lived. I assume she change her name, so no one would find her." Esteban reasoned.

She would have had to change her name if she had lived. Being killed at the hands of Kiddo would have been a mercy killing compared to what Bill's associates do to rats. I leaned forward.

"Do you know where she is?"

"Bill mention she was ah…thinkin' about moving back to France. That was twenty years ago though. She could very well be dead by now."

_So the rat made it out of Tokyo_. Yeah, I could believe this. Sofie's important enough to know where Kiddo may be now, but not important enough for someone to check into see if she was alive. Okay.

"That's perfect. That's all I need. Thank you, Esteban," I said getting up.

"No lo mencione, sinorita. You never told me your name."

"It's Nikki."

"Thank you, Nikki, for the Flowers and you're company. And…say hello to Beatrix for me." He said, shaking my hand.

I walked out into the hall. Francisco instantly jumped up from off the floor. I started to walk past him. Then, changing my mind, I turned and pushed him up against the wall. He tried to break away. I knee him in the hip.

"Maybe I was aiming a little high when I pulled your eye out. _Don't move_." I said.

Francisco whimpered, but obediently went limp. I regarded him for a moment. He was young—maybe not even eighteen yet. He was scared and shaking and young. On the other hand, he was probably a drug addict, a rapist, and a murderer, just like all the rest of the Boys. I should probably kill him right now, so he doesn't hurt anyone else. In the end, it all boils down to one thing—I'm a worse murderer then he is.

But I always had a problem when it came to killing kids.

I reached my hand over to the fountain, and dipped my fingers into it, rinsing the blood off my palm. Then, with a firm hand I unwrapped Francisco's fingers from his loose eye.

His eye was wet and red. A single thin scratch went along the bottom, where it had met with the edge of my shot glass. I could feel it pulsing in my hand. With my knee planted firmly in the side of Francisco's hip, I reached over and splashed a bit of water in the empty socked from the fountain. Then, pulling his eyelids apart and keeping them flat, I eased the pulsing eye back into its socket.

Eyes do not feel like what you expect them. They're wet. Very wet. They are also heavier then you would think. The eye slipped in my fingers, but I held firm, twisting it slightly back and forth as I pushed it in. Francisco gritted his teeth. He closed his other eye as tight as it could possibly go. Finally, I heard a _squish _as the eye settled. I let go of Francisco, and he instantly crumbled to the floor.

I walked back out the hall. As I stood at the steps, I pondered my next move. _Do I go to France to find her?_ No. It will waste too much time. I need to know for sure before I bust my ass buying a first class ticket to Paris. _Okay. I'll look into it. How hard can it be to find a one armed French-Japanese woman?_ Aw, fuck it. How many people have I met without arms? Well, in my line of business, my end being the one receiving the severed arm, I'd say I'm looking for a needle in a crop field.

But I'll find a way. I always do. First things first, I need to get off this continent. I've aggravated too many people in the US who want me dead. Chances are someone already saw me in the airport.

**Six hours after an ashy silver hard top convertible pulled away from La Casa De La Cactus, a black jaguar pulled up in front of it. A young man dressed in a black business suit and white shirt stepped out of the car. He was pale and had messy black hair, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He moved to the passenger side, and opened the door for a young woman. She wore a pair of black boots, a black skirt, and a black long sleeve shirt with puffy white cuffs. She sported the exact sunglasses as her male counter-part. Both had Samurai Swords slung over their backs.**

**They silently walked through the bar. After eight minutes, they emerged and walked down the path to where Esteban resigned. As they approached the house, a stout woman emerged and began cursing at them in Spanish. The man and woman walked past her, and the sound of a blade pulled out of its sheath was heard. Then silence. The old lady fell, the young woman put her sword away, and the two of them walked into the house, and down the white hallway.**

**As they reached the last door, the man opened it again for the woman, and both proceeded in. **

**Esteban yawned and lowered the book in his hands. He blinked at the two intruders, then gave them both a dirty look. **

"**Six hours ago, you were contacted by a woman," the young man said in a voice that was much softer then would be expected. **

"**She is muscular, and of African descent. She has been identified by the yin-yang tattooed on her ankle and the Copperhead snake tattooed on her neck as the assassin codename Baby Cobra. You will repeat for us the conversation you had with her, along with any ideas as to what you believe her true identity is."**

**Esteban was quite for a moment. He looked back down at the book, licked his finger, and turned the page. After he read the last sentence, he closed the finished book, and put it down on the table next to the flower vase. **

"**I believe," he stated cooley, "that you two can go fuck yourselves."**

**The woman stepped forward and, samurai sword in hand, slit Esteban Vihaio's throat. Esteban choked, and closed his eyes. The heart monitor flat lined and issued a long even beep. The young man removed his own sword, and in a rapid movement, he plunged it deep into the machine. He touched an unseen relay wire, and the beeps the machine emitted dulled and died down. **

**A phone rang. The man pulled out a black flip phone. The woman wandered over to the table and looked longingly at the roses.**

" **Do we have confirmation?" A smooth female voice asked. **

"**Yes. We were right—it's her. Permission to proceed with original plan?" inquired the man. **

"…**Tell me what damage she did." **

"**Out of the sixty seven men who fought against her, sixteen are dead. Thirty-two have acquired major injuries. Fifteen have minor injuries, three escaped unharmed. One is missing." He closed his mouth, but then added "Permission to proceed with original plan?" **

**There was a long pause. **

"**Permission denied. It seems we have underestimated her. I want you and Sadako to shadow her. Help her cover her tracks, do not let yourselves be seen. I want to see what her next move will be."**

**At that moment, Sadako looked over at the young man. He caught her gaze, and hastily continued. **

"**Sadako has been expressing concern that Baby Cobra will track _you_ down faster then you anticipated. In the event of her approaching you in your current condition, would you want us to intervene?" **

**Now, there was an even longer pause. The woman was thinking. **

"**You said she had a snake tattoo on her neck?" she asked him**

"**Yes. A Copperhead." **

**The sound of lips curling upward into a smile could almost be heard through the phone.**

"**Intervention will not be necessary. Let her come. I'll be waiting." The woman said.**

"**Understood."**

"**Oh," the woman added. "And Akira?"**

"**Yes?" Akira asked.**

"**Kill everyone else," the voice demanded icily.**

**Akira closed the phone and put it in his pocket. He glanced over at Sadako, who was still staring at the roses. He pulled his sword back out.**

"**We have work to do," he said, and started to walk away. **

**Sadako did not follow. Akira turned around and addressed her again.**

"**We have an assignment," he said again.**

**This time, he turned and walked away without her. Sadako looked over, appalled. Her eyes darted back and forth between Akira and the roses. She got up, and after thoroughly searching the vase, she pulled out the center rose and ran out after Akira.  
**

* * *

End chapter five. Sorry if it was too long, but the bit with Akira and Sadako wouldn't have fit in anywhere else. On a related note, I hope everyone enjoyed that scene. The next few chapters may take a little bit, due to technical difficulties and the fact that I have to keep up my grades. So until then… 

So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish!


	6. Bad Habits Never Break

Author Note- Hello everybody! Oh how long it's been. Sorry for making you wait so long, but I promise it is worth your while, because this chapter frigin rocks if I do say so myself. If you wonder why it looks really long, it's because there is a lot of dialogue. And I tend to write a lot. Just like how I'm doing now. Let's start this thing!

Author's Warning- You may want to refresh on chapter 4 before reading this one.

Disclaimer- not mine.

Kill Kiddo: CHAPTER 6

"'_Poetry?' What is more poetic than pain?" – A Question For Peter: Ophelia Speaks_

**Location: North America- Mexico**

**Date: 9/24/24**

I step through the door of my hot as hell hotel room and sink down to my knees. _Get up_. As I drag my aching body forward, I yank off my skirt, and undo the belt that my swords were fastened to. I pull myself onto the bed and flip over.

"OWWWWWW!!!!" I choke into my pillow.

Roll back onto stomach. I reach my hand back and poke around my shoulder blade until I locate a gapping wound. I clench my teeth and stick my thumb and index finger into it. Tears wield in my eyes as I feel my way through torn muscle. I hit something hard and pull it out. A piece of glass. _Fucker_. I cast it aside.

The room is spinning. It's spinning smaller and getting darker. I fade in and out.

_Get a grip Bell. There is no time to sleep. You need to clean your wounds and get the fuck out of North America before the sun sets._

I lurch forward and agonizingly limp to the bathroom. I take off my blood soaked shirt and throw it in the trash. I examine my body in the mirror. A bullet must have grazed my side, because I've got a small swiss cheese lookin' hole missing. The rest of me is adorned with abrasions and cuts, but it's not like it's something new. Pick a place on any part of my body and you fall within two inches of a dark old scar. I'm not sorry. I wear what comes with the kill. Not proudly, not profoundly, not as a trophy. I don't care. My deepest scars can't even begin to be traced through the skin.

I twist the faucet in the bath. _No warm water_. I don't want to attract some bacteria and get a purple weeping infection. I tap my feet. I start to reach for my sai swords. They're gone. _Where did I put them!?!?_ I glance out into the room. They're on the floor next to the bed. I tap my foot faster. _Let it go Nikki. You don't need them to take a bath. Let it go._

I run out into the room and grab my belt. _Pathetic_. I run back into the bathroom and slam the door. _A cool bath will feel nice in this heat._

Fifty-three minutes later I step out into the room and walk over to the suitcase on top of the dresser. The cool breeze from the window blows my hair in my face. I haven't even got my jeans on before I realize something's wrong. _Why is something wrong?_

_It was hot in the room. The window wasn't open._

I yank one of my sai swords out and whirl around, catching the man standing behind me in the crook of my arm.

"_Someone's_ wound a little tight," the familiar voice rasps. I let go immediately. He laughs and coughs. I feel like a fool.

"How the fuck did you find me Ricky?" I ask.

"I asked around on the street, and everyone said you were going to Okinawa." He says as he gags.

"Hanzo told you I'd be here?"

"Naa, some bald guy." Ricky said as he walked into the kitchen. "You got anything to drink Baby? I'm parched."

I yanked on my jeans and a t-shirt.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. He laughed.

"Baby, don't play games with me. You're my number one girl, even if you are a few tacos short of a combo plate. I came here to make sure you weren't getting yourself into too much trouble." He said before pulling his head out of the fridge and adding, " mind if I drink your last coke?"

"Quit fucking around. You're wanted dead or alive in the US. If anyone sees you, my entire initiative falls apart," I said as I redid my belt.

Ricky takes a long swig of the coke and pushes his brown hair outa his eyes. He walks over to me.

"Chill out Baby. I got bored, decided I'd pay you a visit, and I get to your place and it's for sale. So I waited a few more days, got even more bored, and decided I'd see what you were up to. So…what you up to?" he asked as he handed me the coke and flopped over onto the bed.

I threw the coke bottle on the floor.

"I don't work for you anymore, ya get that Ricky? I haven't done a job for you in over half a year. I'm taking care of some unfinished business, and so help me, if you fuck me up once I will kill you," I hissed.

Ricky's eyes widened. He got off the bed.

" …Nikkia…" he started.

I reached around for my sai sword.

"YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO CALL ME THAT." I said solemnly.

"Okay, I'm sorry—Nikki, you're bleeding." Ricky said.

I glanced down at my shirt.

"Aw, shit…" I said. I yanked up my shirt. My side wound was bleeding heavily through the bandages.

"Nikki, you can't put Band-Aids on a thing like that," Ricky laughed sadly.

I glared at him. He stops laughing and sighs.

"Lie down on the bed." He instructs.

"No." I say.

"Bleed to death then." He said.

I stand staring at him for a moment before I realize exactly how painful it is. I suck it up and sit down on the bed. Ricky reaches under the bed and pulls out a bag.

"I've known you for too long not to bring medical supplies with me," he said smiling. "Flip over."

I roll off my bloody shirt and lay down on my stomach.

"Baby, what did you do to yourself?" he asks as he wipes a smelly green substance on my wounds.

"What's that crap your putting on me?" I yawned.

"Some special illegal medicine I picked up as one of the perks of having a hand in some special illegal stuff. It'll stop you from bleeding." He whispers in my ear. "So, where you heading next?"

"Mmm…dunno. I'm not going back to Japan. Ever. Maybe England. I'm not getting on an air plane till I get outa Mexico."

It's quiet for a moment. Ricky bandages up my bullet wound while gently massaging my lower back. His fingers are like magic.

" You going up to New Mexico you think?" he asked.

His spell wears off instantly.

I rolled around and grabbed Ricky by the throat. I pushed him to the bed and pulled out my sai sword.

"You are dead," I said.

" Okay, bad timing." He choked.

"I'm going to kill you." I pushed my sword to his neck and watched a drip of blood trickle out.

"Okay, okay baby. You COULD kill me, but you could also kill someone ELSE and make some money off of it. How's two hundred grand sound?"

I kneed him in the crotch. _I am too fucking exhausted for this shit._

"Okay, three hundred! That okay?!" he asked.

"You come all the way out here just to ask me to do a job for you?!?" I yelled. "I DON'T FUCKING WORK FOR YOU ANYMORE!"

"I didn't…I didn't know about it when I came to get you! Someone wanted this guy dead, and I signed on since I was coming out here. He's already in the USA, and it'll take Lolita too long to get out here, and I want this done quick and right. 'Sides, Lolita has her whole torture fixation…"

I didn't let him finish. I was so mad. I squeezed his neck tighter. Tighter. He gagged.

"C'mon baby…don't be like that…" he said, still trying to play the cool guy.

Ricky always wants to be the cool guy. Just like how he was when we first met, when he was tied to a chair with a knife in his thigh. And just like then, it came off more pathetic then cool. I let go of him.

As Ricky grasped his neck and tried to recover, I started thinking. _Where was I going next? Do I really want to go to Europe without confirming Sofie is still alive? Do I want to go anywhere first? Jeez…I'm so tired, I don't wanna go anywhere. _

"Hey, Ricky?" I asked.

"…What is it Baby?" he coughed.

"What can you tell me about Sofie Fatel?"

Ricky raised his eyebrow.

"Former student of the infamous Bill, best friend and personal attorney of O-ren Ishii. Last seen at the House Of Blue Leaves. Why?" he asked.

"…I'll do this job for you in New Mexico, and you don't have to pay me shit. Instead, find out something good about Sofie." I said.

Ricky's face lit up.

"You won't regret this, Baby," Ricky said. "I'll find out everything. Anything. I'll sift through each individual,"—

"I don't care how you do it, as long as you get it done. Hand me my bra." I demanded.

Ricky's eyes widened.

"Getting dressed already?" he asked.

"You want this job done, don't you?" I demand.

"Baby, you should relax and give yourself some time to rest. And lucky for you, I know of a perfect way for you to relax." He said, inching towards me. I turn away.

"Ricky, no. I need to get out of Mexico. You want me to change my mind about this?" I said.

"See what I mean about being wound too tight?" he says, kissing my neck. " Quit worrying. Enjoy life."

"_Whose_ life?" I ask him.

He cups my face in his hands.

"Yours." He answers.

And he kisses my lips. I give in and kiss him back. We fall down to the bed together.

"Always gotta be the cool guy," I mutter.

"And you always gotta be the one who won't let anyone in," he says, running his hand down my stomach, dodging my bruises.

"I let you in, don't I?" I say. He smiles.

"Don't kid yourself baby. I understand—you've got this whole vindication vendetta—we've all got our demons we gotta put to rest. I just hope when this one's dead and gone, you'll open up. Until then, I'm fine with this." He whispers.

I kiss him then, and I kiss him hard. So hard it's painful. He winces and coils his arms around me. I gyrate my body against his with all the strength I can summon. It's my way of making him hurt, the way I want him to hurt.

No one will ever understand.

---_KK_---

When I wake up, it's morning and Ricky's gone. I get dressed and pack my bag.

The moment I stepped outa the elevator and onto the top floor of the parking garage, I got that familiar feeling that I was being followed. Not by Ricky. _I have no time for this. Just get out of here._

I start to walk to my car, but by instinct, I am bothered by the desire to hunt down who is watching me. I know I should take care of this now before it becomes a bigger problem, but _goddamnit_. I stand still. I close my eyes, and practice my breathing. The sun beats down on me. I listen. I hear a bird. I hear my teeth grit. _I hear a car engine_.

I open my eyes in time to see the glint of a car peeling off to the exit. Take off after it. I jump on top of a car and flip off it. I land on the other side of the lot, but I don't make it down to the lower levels. Someone is blocking my way. I narrow my eyes.

"You." I say.

It's the kid who's eye I pulled out. He's sitting on his motorcycle with that guitar he stole from the mariachi strapped around his shoulder.

He stares back at me. His eye is red and swollen. He begins to bring his hand up, but I'm already reaching for my swords. He brings his foot down. The bike roars.

I spin away to the left and miss Eyeless by an inch. He passed me with enough speed to throw me off balance. I am brought to my knees. _I do not have time for this._

I hear the roar of the bike again. He's turning back. He sees me on the ground. He rockets forward.

When he's three feet in front of me, I leap into the air. Landing on the bike, I attack him, kicking, clawing, punching. I attack him like an animal. He falls off the bike, and I jump off after him. The bike smashes into a wall.

I wipe the blood off my face and go for the kid. I know what I'm feeling, and I know I'm not angry at him. He's just another body I can punish.

"Wait!" he says as he rolls out of the way of my fist. My hand hits the concrete. The concrete cracks and crumbles.

" Stand still," I tell him.

He grabs me by my hair. I jerk my head down and catch his wrist. I twist his arm back. He yelps.

"Want me to unzip your guitar case so you can play a sorrowful song?" I ask.

He squirms. I grab him by the base of his neck. I lead him over to the short wall that serves as a railing. I bash his face against it. I don't care if he is a kid. I want to hurt him. I want to make him bleed.

Eyeless kicks me in the leg. I let go of him for a moment. He rolls up onto the wall and swings his guitar off. He hits me across the face with it before jumping off . I'm now pinned between him and the wall.

He is breathing heavy. He moves to strike me. I catch him in the stomach with my knees and send him flying forward.

He grabs my arm as he flies past the wall. With no good footing, he pulls me with him.

We both fall off the eight-story building.

---_KK_---

As we both went sailing off the wall, I grabbed onto Eyeless's leg. Through instinct, a falling person will always grab the thing closest to them. For example, even though Francisco's eyes were both shut and I was clamped onto his legs, he had instinctively grabbed his guitar case.

Now, the fact that the strap of his guitar case had snagged onto a protruding metal prod at the base of the four foot wall was just some sheer fuckin' luck.

Eyeless looked down at me, then looked back up at the guitar. He tried moving his hands up. I don't move. It be a bad idea for me to try to climb up him and make him let go or kick me off.

Eyeless groans. I reach my feet down and set my toes against a crease in the cement bricks. I push him up. He climbs up the guitar, and reaches the metal prod. I hang onto him until I am high enough to get to the guitar case. The kid's already climbed up onto the metal prod—his arm's around the wall. To gain momentum, I kick off from the wall.

The strap of the guitar case snaps.

I instantly look down for something to claw at. The wind is knocked out of me as I am jerked upward.

Eyeless is holding onto the guitar strap. _Fuck._ He's kneeling on the rusty metal pole and he's holding onto the guitar strap and the wall with one hand. He pulls me up. His strength surprises me. When my fingers wrap around the prod, he stands up and pulls himself over the wall. He tugs the strap to help me climb up. Once on top of the wall, I let go, and he falls to the floor. I crawl over and let myself drop onto the warm concrete next to him.

He's breathing heavily. He turns to his side and kisses the guitar.

I role over on top of him and wrap my fingers around his neck. I already made the mistake of leaving him alive once. He coughs. He gags.

"Please…" he rasps.

I tighten my grasp. I was wrong before when I spared him because he was a kid. He was raised by a dozen prostitutes; probably unsure which one was his real mother. The only people he considered friends were his brothers and cousins who taught him how to steal and kill. He's nobody's baby.

He can't talk now. Can't breathe. He stares up at me with pleading eyes. Fearful eyes. I try to look away. I feel his rapid pulse. He's begging me now. _Just die already._ He puts his hand to his neck and touches my fingers. He doesn't try to pull my hand off. He just holds my hand, to weak to try.

_I don't have the fucking time for this. _I let go of his throat and stand up. I hear him suck in air as I walk away. I'm gonna regret this. I know it.

As soon as I'm in my car, I throw my bag in the back and open the glove compartment. There are two folders. I pull out one. It's the file of the guy I need to kill. _Leave it to Ricky to find my car_. I pull out the second folder. A dozen clumps of hundred dollar bills fall out of it. Scrawled across the front of the folder it says _' hope this is enough. And hope this is your car.'_ Always gotta be cool. Not like me. He never had problems with killing. Ricky's merciless, whether he's killing or torturing or fucking or just bugging people. Part of me envies him. Part of me feels satisfied with letting the Acuna Boy live. Part of me wonders if maybe I'm losing my touch, if I still deserve that spot on the top twenty female assassins...if I should even be proud of that.

And part of me is wonder how close it is to the nearest drive-through. I'm starving. I put the keys in the ignition.

* * *

Damn, did that feel good to get out of my system! Thanks to the legendary Sassy Scorpio for giving me suggestions...now if only i could figure out how to use those stars... I want to apologies for the length of this chapter again. If any of you think my chapters are long, don't be too intimidated by my insight into the mind of a psycho-bitch not to say anything.

Chapter 7 is under construction. Until then—it's been real!


	7. What Comes With The Kill

Authors Note- Welcome back to Kill Kiddo!!! Many things have happened since I last updated, and now Kill Kiddo is no longer my only story. It is still however, the one I put the most thought into. You may want to refresh on the last two chapters before reading this. Also, while I myself enjoy first person narrative, there are some parts of this chapter I felt would be better not told from Nikki's POV—things she couldn't see going on, or just to add to this chapters element of suspense. Rather than breaking it off at each switch, I've put everything she doesn't say in bold.

**Disclaimer**: Nikki isn't mine.

KILL KIDDO: CHAPTER 7

**Location: North America:** USA- New Mexico

**Date:** 9/26/24

"_He gives a muffled gurgle, his final breath whispers out his nostrils. …There is no such thing as silence_." –Dwight: Sin City

I glance down uneasily at the files. His name is Mitchel Floyd. The file I have on him, the files Ricky gives me every time I do a job have everything. Who they were. What they do. Why they should die. I look down at his picture. He's thin, and handsome in a rugged, almost old guy kinda way. Nice cheekbones, but gray hair. I don't let myself look at any other part of the file. I used to find myself sifting through the files, hoping to find my person was a murderer, a rapist, a cheat, a drug dealer. Something to let me know that the world didn't need them.

I don't peak anymore. After the name and location, file goes to the trash.

An old gray Honda drives into the parking lot of Uncle Billy's. I focus my binoculars on the license plate. Oregon. _This is my guy_.

Floyd steps out of the car. He's way thinner then he was in the picture, and his face is covered with stubble. He's limping. He looks around, then decides no one is watching. He limps over to the trunk, and pulls out a suitcase before walking into the lobby. I watch for him. Seven minutes later, he comes out, and hastily unlocks door twenty-one. He looks around one last time, then goes in. I glance at the gun in my hand.

I look down at my watch. Four fifty four. _I'll make my move at eleven._

**_---KK---_**

I slip my black ski mask on and unlock his door with the spare key I took from the lobby. I walked through the room gently. Floyd was dead asleep, which made my job a lot easier. I walk up to the bed, and lift the pillow infront of his head. I level the gun to it. I start to pull the trigger...but i hesitate. I look at him. His face was gaunt, his eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. I wonder how long he had been running.

_I wonder if he went to the police. I wonder if he couldn't go to the police. I wonder how long he has been running._

Floyd suddenly moans and rolls over.

His movement catches me off guard and I fire a hole in the mattress nowhere near him.

He wakes up, contorting his face in confusion and fear. He sees me holding the gun, and jumps off the bed, runs into the bathroom. I sigh and go after him. Of course, he's locked the door. I shoot the lock and kick the door down. The window, however, is already open.

I had a feeling this wasn't going to be easy…

**Mitchel Floyd fell into the grassy ditch that was outside the window. He cut his chin on a piece of glass from a beer bottle, but didn't notice it and staggered to his feet. He ran around the other side of the motel, and stumbled out into the parking lot in his bare feet. He had kept his car keys in the pocket of his silk sweats, and yanked them out to unlock the door. He noticed the door was unlocked, and pulled it open. He set the keys into the ignition when he heard something. Before he could turn around, he felt something metal on the back of his head.**

Shh-shh-shh-shh," a voice whispered from the back seat. 

"W-who are y-you?" he asks me. "…Who th-the fuck are you?"

"Don't move. Don't yell, don't try to bring any attention to the car," I said to him, gun pressed against the back of his head. _This is going to be awkward. I only put one bullet in the gun, and I used that…_

I saw his head dart instinctively to the store across the street. It was closed. The parking lot was almost empty, just four or five other cars and one was mine.

"Don't do this. Please." He whispered.

I caught his gaze in the mirror. It's been so long since I've gone after someone who I didn't harbor a grudge against. I suddenly regret not reading his file. _Did he have kids?_ I don't think I'm in the right position to ask him.

" _Please_," he repeats himself, more urgently.

"Sorry, Mitchel." I find myself saying.

Floyd suddenly yanks his head down, out of range of my gun. He opens the door and throws himself out. By the time I open my door, he's already running across the street, into the park.

_Son of a bitch…_

**Mitchel leaned up against the back of a tree and sunk down to his knees. The muscles of his swollen ankle contracted so painfully it made him clench his teeth. Every breath he took was etched with pain. **

**He heard footsteps approaching from behind the tree. He stopped breathing. He held tight to the ground, waiting. Eventually, the footsteps died out. After he was sure they were gone, he let himself breathe again.**

**A figure jumped down in front of him from the top of the tree.**

"Hello," I said calmly.

He was already scrambling up, stumbling away. He obviously couldn't run anymore. He staggered for a few more feet, then started pulling himself along the ground.

"Mitchel, don't make this any harder than it already is." I said.

Floyd looked back at me, and started crawling. _Not surprising_. That line never works.

I stepped on his pant leg and kicked him over. He held up his hands.

"Please!!! Please, don't kill me!!" he begged.

He was hyperventilating. _Jeez, this is pathetic_. Why the hell did Ricky send me on this job? _What's so special about this guy that Ricky needed me to take care of him?_

Floyd's leg came swinging out of nowhere and kicked me in the face. The force was enough to push me on the ground since I was already leaning over, giving Floyd enough time to stagger up from the ground. He limped frantically out into the road. His head down.

He couldn't see the headlights speeding out of the distance.

**Mitchel swung his broken ankle forward, trying to keep it on the ground for as little as possible. He threw his body as far as he could. If he could make it to the parking lot, he would be okay. He could get into his car. He could go farther, somewhere they wouldn't find him. He started running, forgetting all the pain in his leg now. **

**As he sauntered out onto the road, he turned at the roar of a car engine. A black jaguar was hurtling towards him. He started to turn around, but it was futile. He fell to the ground, and the car rolled across his legs and back with a sickening crunch. **

**The car drove away, and Mitchel spit blood into the dark pavement. He moaned. He tried to pull himself back up, but his legs wouldn't move. He started to drag himself, but he could barely lift his arms. **

**A horn blared. Once. Twice. He turned his head and watched in horror as a truck sped towards him. It was going too fast to stop. He closed his eyes. **

**As he sucked in what he assumed to be his final breath, a pair of hands reached out and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him out of the way of the truck. **

I pulled Floyd to the side of the street. He opened his eyes, and upon seeing me, tried yanking his body backwards. Clawing at the grass. As I dragged him past the bench, he reached out limply and wrapped his hand around the leg.

"…_No_…" he whispered in a barely audible voice.

I looked out at the road for the black jaguar that had run him over. It had stopped, but nobody was coming out. I stood up higher. The owner of the car appeared satisfied, and drove away. _Dick._

I glanced back down at Floyd. He was grabbing onto that bench for dear life. Tears were streaming down his face. I reached down gently and unclenched his hands from around the bench. He tried to fight for it, but seemed to give up and let go. I sat down next to him. I took out my gun, a few stray bullets and started to reload. Floyd watched me, a look of pain, anger, confusion and fear plastered across his face.

"…Why did you pull me out of the way?" he asked between rasped breaths.

"Because that's a fucked up way to die. It probably wouldn't have killed you... not right away. Maybe just smushed off one of your legs, or popped a lung. Thus leaving me with the option of letting you suffer in the road to the point of begging me to put you out of your misery, or the option of giving you as humane a death I could offer," I said to him. I finished loading the gun.

"Call me compassionate." I laughed.

Floyd whimpered. I stopped laughing.

"Can you move your legs?" I asked him. He shivered.

"No…I…I can't feel them." Floyd mumbled.

"The car broke your spine. Fucking dildos in this state need to watch the road." I said.

Floyd stared down at the gun in my hand.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, closing his eyes.

"I want to set things straight with you." I said. " For the record, I didn't want to do it like this—I wanted to do it while your sleeping. Believe me, I do not enjoy this." I said.

Floyd gagged. I patted him on the back, and he coughed out a clump of blood. He looked up at my eyes through the black ski mask.

"…Who…are you?" he asked.

I take off my mask so he can see my face. He looks surprised, like he was expecting something else.

"I'm everything you are—just another victim." I say.

He nods. A trickle of blood runs out the side of his mouth.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

"…The pain?" he asks. "N-no."

He puts his hands on the grass, and rolls himself off his stomach. As he lands on his mangled spine, he cries out, sucking in breath after breath. He speaks out, at first in inaudible words. Words that rise and fall with his cries of pain.

"The betrayal…the heartache, the regret...the fear…the fear is unbearable." he murmurs.

"I know how you feel." I say.

He looks up at the sky and sucks in a wide mouthful of air. I look up as well.

"Stars are out," I say.

I point the gun at him. He brings a hand up to my wrist.

"Please…" he mumbles.

"I'll make it quick." I say.

He nods. I take his hand off my wrist. As I lower the barrel to his head, he grips my other hand tightly. He looks me in the eyes.

"Nothing was worth this fear." He says.

**BLAM.**

**_---KK---_**

**Location**: Crazy Town

I turn the key in the ignition and flip the car to auto drive. With no set destination, the car circles the block. As I turn the corner, a figure in the mirror catches my eye. I look down quickly.

"You know, you made me really proud when you pulled that man out of the way of the truck." my mom says from the back.

I ignore her.

"You did the right thing. Right up until you shot him in the head and scattered his brains all over." she continues.

_Like I need a talk about ethics from you._ I turn the mirror so I can't see her.

"Touché." she says. She's next to me now.

"You're dead. You're not real." I say.

"Your thoughts create your world, baby. Been thinking about me a lot?" she asks.

I don't say anything.

My car cruises gently down the opposite street. It turns the corner and goes back. As I drive by the park, I look out. I can make out the faint silhouette of Floyd's mangled body.

"So, what did he do?" she asks me.

"I don't know." I mutter.

_Jesus Christ, I'm going fucking bonkers. _

"Maybe I'm a ghost," my mom says. This time I look over at her.

"There's no such thing as ghosts. There's no heaven, no hell, no devil no god. Once you're dead, you're dead and gone and bug food." I tell her.

"Mmm." she agrees. "So why is that man dead?"

"Because I killed him." I say.

"And why is that?"

I can't take it anymore. I reach into the glove compartment and yank out Mitch's file. I comb through Ricky's sarcastic style of writing and pull together a reason of death. My mom reads it over my shoulder.

" _…Mitchel Floyd was an informer for Kim Takaki, a member of the yakuza as you already are well aware of. He quit six months ago. Kim needs him dead. He knows too much_." she says.

I flip the car off auto drive and head down the street, back into town. My mom is quiet.

"Well?" I say. "Happy now?"

"Are you?" she counters.

_Not real. Not real. Lalalalalalalala._

"Did you not enjoy killing him? You seem a little down." She continues.

"Assassins do not react to death. We cause it. We are finely tuned instruments meant to feel nothing while we work, not pleasure, not guilt, not pain." I say.

"He sure felt it, that's for damn sure." She said.

I slam on the breaks.

"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! IT'S FOR YOU!!! ALL OF IT'S FOR YOU!!! IT'S WHY I HUNT, WHY I KILL, IT'S WHY I LIVE!!!" I scream.

I look demandingly to the seat next to me. She's gone.

"…It's all I have left." I whisper to no one.

I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel. I take a deep breath.

_I need a drink. _

* * *

Well, that sums it up for chapter seven. Sorry for the mistakes, but the son of a bitch computer I was using screwed up all my stuff, and left out some big chunks of story. I hope you enjoyed it anyway!!! 


	8. Blood Drunk

Authors Note- hello, hello again everyone. Welcome to the next chapter. Sorry if things are going a bit slow—Nikki's revenge is about to kick back into gear. You may want to re-read chapter four. A key part in Nikki's past comes into play.

Disclaimer- I don't own what I don't own, which is Nikki's story of revenge. I've made my piece with that.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 8**

**Location: North America:** USA- New Mexico

**Date:** 9/27/24

"_And I run. I run like the rivers, run like the oceans and like my blood—I run_." --Ophelia Speaks

**A woman sat in a cushioned chair, a phone pressed against her ear. Propped up against her leg was a samurai sword. She traced the handle of the sword with her free hand. She didn't say anything, letting the seriousness of the statement Akira hold told her sink in. **

"**So, you let her see you?" she finally asked.**

**There was silence on the other end of the phone.**

**"Answer me Akira." She commanded. **

**"You interfered with her mission, and you let her see your car," the woman said.**

**Her fingers wrapped around her sword, and she eased the blade out of it's sheathe.**

**"…Affirmative." Akira replied.**

**The woman slipped the sword back into it's sheathe, letting the metallic slice it made echo in the background.**

**"Abandon the car immediately. Get a new one, different shape, different manufacturer." The woman instructed. "Now, tell me: who is she looking for?"**

**"Our original target, Richard Flanagan has made a deal with her to track down Sofie Fatel." Akira said.**

**The woman again, was silent. She glanced down at her sword. The time had come for her to make a gamble—let Nikki continue? Or go back after Richard, and get what she had wanted for the past twenty years?**

**"Follow her wherever she goes. Don't let yourselves be seen this time. And Akira?" she said.**

**"Yes?"**

**"I'm disappointed in you," the woman said as she hung up.**

**Akira and Sadako sat silently in the car for a moment. Sadako sensed the hurt in Akira and kissed him on the forehead. He nodded, and opened the car door.**

**"We've been given instructions to abandon this vehicle. We must comply. I will go obtain a new one. Stay here and watch the bar. If she leaves, call me immediately." Akira instructed.**

**Sadako nodded. Akira got out of the car and shut the door. As he walked away, Sadako bent down and pulled out the white rose from under the seat. A petal hung loosely down towards the stem. She plucked it off and let it fall to the floor. the flower was wilting.**

**Sadako hoped she could get a new one to replace it soon.**

_**---KK---**_

"Think you've had enough, lady?" the bartender asked as he refilled my glass for the upteenth time.

"Nope. I can still remember why I'm here." I said, flushing the drink down.

I put the glass back on the counter.

"Hit me. Go easy on the ice this time," I murmured.

The image of my dead mother talking to me was not enough to shock me into a state of psychosis. I'm still sane enough to know it's not really her. Still sane enough to know it's my own guilt, my own heavy conscience, protruding into my mind in the only way it can get through to me. I don't lose much sleep over most of the people I kill, but man..._when it rains, it pours.  
_  
"Maybe I'm losing my touch," I mumbled out loud.

Someone tapped on my shoulder. I ignored it.

"Excuse me, miss?" the voice asked.

I sipped my drink.

"Miss Nicole Grey?" the voice asked again.

I put my drink down and turned around. Two huge guys with sunglasses stood behind me. They looked familiar, but my intoxicated mind couldn't place them.

"We was wondering if you would step outside and have a word with our boss." One asked.

I turned around."Get fucked, clowns." I mumbled.

"Come out on your legs or come out in a body bag," one said.

"Are these men bothering you?" the bartender asked me.

"Huh? What? No, everything's perfectly perfect. Can I have another vodka?" I asked.

One of the men leaned over.

"I have a gun, Miss Grey. I've been ordered to use it if you don't come outside," he whispered.

I sigh. The bartender eyes me out. I get up.

"Put some ice in my drink. I'll be back." I say.

One of the men laughs. It makes me angry. I grab the glass with the most liquid in it.

"Second thought, I'll take it to go."

_**---KK---**_

As the clowns led me out to the alleyway, I sipped my drink. I know I know these guys from somewhere. I'm just too drunk to remember. I know them though. The black ones name is Maurice, the Italian one is Joseph. Why is it I can't remember where I know them from?

Parked in the greasy alley is a black limo. Two other giant guys are standing around it. _Okay, I know these guys, too_. _The tan one is Otto; the one with the ponytail is Steven. What's going on here?_ I sip my drink. The door to the limo opens.

"I didn't think we'd be seeing each other so soon," a man said, cracking his knuckles.

I spit out my drink in an attempt to choke my laughter.

"A Jay? You're the one who dragged me out here?" I said.

"You and I got a score ta settle," he said.

"Any business you and I ever had ended when I walked away Ultimate Fighting Champion." I yawned.

One of his bodyguards grabbed my wrist. A Jay walked up to me.

"They bent the rules for you Grey, letting you rumble with the boys. You know what happens when a man fights against a girl? If he beats her, he's a dick, if he loses, he's a fag."

"Ultimate Fighting has no rules, Ace. What's the matter? Couldn't get back in the game after I left?" I said mockingly.

"You're one to be bragging," he said. "You leave for almost two years with the title of Ultimate Fighting Champion, and you show up in the middle of nowhere, totally hammered. What _have_ you been doing?" he demanded.

"Eh, this 'en that." I said.

"I want a re-match. You clearly don't need the title anymore—so why don't you just give it back?" He said.

"Whatever. I'm going back inside." I mumbled drunkenly.

His bodyguard tightened his grasp on my wrist.

"I don't think you understand. I said,"—

" _I don't give a fuck WHAT you said_," I hissed.

I twisted around my hand and grabbed Josephs wrist. In a rapid movement, I pulled it up as high as I could, and twisted it in a circle.

"BITCH!!!" He yelled, pushing me away.He held up his hand in horror.

His hand jutted out at an impossible angle, and a thin splinter of bone was visible from the base of his wrist. I watched. I soaked it in. _This is the kind of pain I like to hand out. This is the kind of pain that makes _ME_ feel alive. _

"My hand! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY HAND?!?" he yelled. He lashed out at me.

"Let me fix that." I said.

I grabbed his forearm and pulled it up, twisted it in a circle. I did it again. _Again_. When I had nothing left to twist, I kicked him to the ground. His arm was twisted into a pretzel, with little white splinters of bone jutting out everywhere.

"JESUS CHRIST!!" one of A Jay's boys yelled. I smile drunkenly to myself.

"Jesus Christ walks into a motel..." I start.

Steven took a deep breath and charged at me.

"He hands the innkeeper three nails and says—" I pulled out my sia sword and plunged it deep into his right eye. I laughed. _Oh, damn, this is exactly what I needed._

"_Would you put me up for the night_?" I ask, twisting my sword out and pushing his lifeless body down.

"I never get tired of The Crow." I say as blood squirts out of Steven's hallow eye socket.

A Jay pulled off his coat.

"You done it now," he whispered. I smile at him and drop my sword.

A Jay took a swing at me. I dodged it. He took another swing at me. I dodged that one as well. On his third try, I grabbed his fist and walked up his knees. I kicked him in the face before flipping away.

The world spun around me. I landed on my legs, but I fell backwards onto the wet pavement. The stars were gone now, replaced with a blanket of clouds. _Whoa._ The high I'm getting from this is getting to me.

Someone's hands wrap around my hair and pulled me up. Two firm sets of arms held me on place. A Jay walked forward. He hit me hard in the gut. I kicked him in the nads. The four arms pushed me down. A Jay hit me across the face.

"This isn't entirely fair," I pointed out.

"You killed Steven, you fat bitch!" he said.

"You killed Steven when you came looking for trouble, Ace Jason." I said.

A Jay grabbed my face and smashed it against his knee. I bit down hard. A Jay screamed. The two men behind me tried to pull me away, but my jaw held tight. After a moment, they pulled me off him with a nauseating squish. A Jay fell backward, a huge hole in his pant leg. I spit the cloth, skin and blood out of my mouth. I must have yanked out some major tendon, because A Jay was gushing. I licked my lips.

"Finish her," A Jay moaned.

One of the guys kicked me onto the floor, the other pulled out a handgun.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure this is entirely unfair." I said.They ignored me. Maurice pointed the gun at my head.

I spun my legs around and tripped him. He fired at the wall. I jumped as far as I could upward and grabbed onto a fire escape staircase about a story up. I swung up and slipped through the little bar. I got clumsy, and ended up on my back. I rolled over and peeked through the holes.

"How the fuck she do that?!?" Otto demanded.

"From up here you all look like a bunch of steroid abusing ants." I mocked.

"SHOOT HER!!!" A Jay yelled.

"Don't yell—I'll come to you." I said.

I flipped off and landed on Otto's head. I put my foot down and kicked his jaw forward before leaping away. Laughing, I did a summersault and rolled under the limo.The three beefcakes yelled at each other while Joseph moaned about his arm. I edged away to the side of the limo opposite them, and slipped out.

Otto and Maurice seized me and held me in place. A Jay advanced upon me, the gun now in his hands.

" I'm gonna enjoy this," he hissed at me.

I struggled against the two sets of arms. _Huh. This isn't very good. _A Jay pointed the gun at my head. I spit at him. He put his foot on my chest and pushed me down. As my head hit the hard ground, it snapped me back into reality. Gone was the warm thrill of killing for pleasure, replaced with the wet and cold of defeat. I looked up into the dark sky. Thick drips of water fell into my eyes. _When did it start raining_?

A Jay bent down and put the gun under my chin. _This isn't very good at all..._

A shadow flashed past the silver clouds. A Jay was pulled off of me.

I pushed off the two bodyguards grip. The let go willingly. I looked closer at A Jay. A dark figure was wrestling his gun away. Maurice advanced upon the figure, who dodged easily behind him. _Who was that?_ Not Ricky—fighting style's too rough.

I staggered to my feet and grabbed Otto by his ponytail, slamming my fist into his head. I felt his nose collapse into his face. I pushed him away. I fell back down on my knees. Otto moved to hit me, but I rolled out of his way. His fist pounded into the ground and he yelled. I rolled back under the limo.

A series of loud shots made me bring my hands to my ears. Either A Jay or the shadow man had gotten the gun, and I wasn't sticking around to find out who. I pulled myself to the other side of the limo and got up. Another shot.

A Jay screams.

I start to run. I bend down and grabbed the sai sword I dropped before peeling out of the alley.

I run until I'm on the other side of the block. I run across the street to where I parked the car. I unlock the door, stuff the keys into the ignition, press the digital button for the Arizona border and flip the car into auto-drive. I lean back in my seat and breathe.

How did it come to this? I have never, ever been in a situation where I couldn't look around me and see what I needed to do to kill whatever fuck dared fight me. I have never needed a miracle to save me from what lies in the dark alley. I have never been helpless. _Never_. I don't like it. It scares me.

I can't think. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror. My face is covered in sweat and blood and rain. And tears. I turn the mirror away. I sob into the steering wheel.

_Why do I do this to myself? Why am I still doing this to myself? Why can't I just lie down and rest my aching bones? Why can't I let myself give up?_

It's HER. It's always been because of HER. And can't give up. If I do, all this—all I am, it won't be because of HER anymore. It will be me. My fault. She started this. I need to finish it. Then maybe my mom and me can both rest.

My sadness turned into anger, I turn the mirror back. I'm not so disgusted with myself anymore.

I'm coming Beatrix Kiddo. The blood I've spilled so far is a puddle next to the river I'm gonna squeeze out of you.

I look into the mirror. I smile.

_Oh yeah. I'm back, baby._

* * *

Thanks for reading one and all! I love to hear what anyone has to say, so don't hesitate to give me a review! They motivate me and give me newer, sicker ideas. 

If there are any mistakes like there were in the last chapter, they will be corrected soon!

Have a fucken' awesome day!


	9. Rats Dogs and Snakes

Authors Note- YEAH BABY, Chapter 9! Thank you for staying with me readers, as long as you have. If I could, I'd give you some sort of sharpish things right now and we could all throw them at the ceiling in celebration. Of what, I do not know. But it would be splendid.

Disclaimer- the hell with this. I have nothing witty left to say about how I don't own Kill Bill. I tell this to you every frigin chapter. Guess what? I don't own it now anymore than I did last time.

KILL KIDDO: CHAPTER 9

**Location: United States- Nevada**

**Date: 9/27/24**

A ring-tone for a popular song seeps through my glove compartment. I open it and pull out the reflective black phone.

"Hey baby. Has the kill been confirmed?"

"Since when do I have a cell-phone?" I ask Ricky.

"Um…since one fifteen A.M. this morning, when you were at the bar. I had an associate slip it in you car. Pretty sexy, right?" he said coyly.

"So, Lolita is already in the states? Should I expect a bomb to go off soon?" I asked.

"Nikki, baby, C'mon. Lolita and I had a big talk. You don't work for me anymore, she's back to being my number one, and she holds nothing against you. Everyone wins." He said.

"This line can't be secure. Where are you?" I asked.

"Baja California. Where you?" he asked.

"_Baja California_?" I asked.

"Well, if I'm gonna be close to North America without being in the US for more than a day at a time, I might as well be doing it on a white sand beach while drinking a yellow drink out of a coconut. Want me to get you one? Hey, was that kill ever confirmed?" he asked.

"Yes, the kill is fucking confirmed already. I went through a lot of shit, so you better have dug up something good." I said.

"Do I ever let you down? I'm working on it as we speak. You in Nevada?" he asked.

"Just crossed the border. I'm north bound right now."

"Let's meet up at the airport in Vegas. Food court."

"Why is it you make a big shit about keeping out of this country, but you always want to go to the cities where you know people will recognize you?" I asked.

"Eh, you know me. I get off on danger. Besides, I need to hit the casinos. I've reserved fifteen million and I'm going crazy. See you when I see you Baby."

I hang up the phone, pick up my gun and point it at the back seat.

"Get up," I say.

Old Eyeless curses from the backseat.

"I knew you've been there since I stopped at the station. I could smell the blood on you." I say. "Get up, or get shot up."

Eyeless crawls out from the floor and swings over into the front. He looks at me. He has a red handprint around his neck, and his eye is still swollen and red.

"How many times you gotta get lucky before you decide you should stop following me?" I ask.

He doesn't say anything. He's staring at me. Like he's some starving dog or somethin'.

"Stop staring at me," I demand.

He doesn't blink.

"I'll shoot you. I mean it." I say.

He doesn't look away. I pull the gun up to his head. He flinches.

"…No, wait! Let me come with you!" he yells.

His response leaves me dumbfound.

"Where are you going? Let me …let me come with you." he says with some difficulty.

Now the kid is really starting to piss me off. _Maybe I should shoot him._ I start to tighten my grip on the gun. The kid pulls himself back and shuts his eyes. _Aw, fuck it. Wait…why do I still have this stupid gun?_ I roll down the window on Francisco's side. He opens his eyes and watches while I fling the gun out the window. We drive on in silence. He doesn't try anything, and neither do I. After ten minutes, I pull up on the side of the red dirt road. I open his door.

"Get out," I say.

"Please…let me come with you," he begs.

"Get out of my goddamn car." I bark.

"I can help you," he says.

"Go back to Acuna, Acuna Boy." I yell.

He looks me dead in the eyes, and slams the door shut. He shoots me a smug look. I punch him across the eye. He yells in pain. I pull my arm back to do it again.

"I saved your life you know!" he yells. "Twice."

I uncurl my fist.

"And I did _not_ kill you three times. That squares us. Now go." I say, opening his door again.

"I want to come with you!" he repeats. "You can use me. Those men last night in the alley would have killed you, if not for me. We… we could work together. Where are you going?"

I put my hand over my head.

"How old are you kid?" I ask.

"Twenty one," he replies.

"Liar."

"Nineteen." He said quickly.

" I WILL pull out your eye again, do not test me. How old are you?" I said.

He was quiet now.

"Almost eighteen." He said gently.

_Fuck._

"_You gotta be shittin' me_," I said.

"I can fight. Not like you can, but I can fight,"—

"You are a child." I said.

" But,"—

"Go. Leave. Go back to Mexico, Eyeless. Go back to Acuna, and have fun when the dirty old man bites it." I said.

Eyeless made an expression like I slapped him. His eyes grew hard, and he grimaced.

"I would rather die." He hissed.

We both shoot each other dirty looks. I should have popped his eye out for keeps, the little fucker. Damn…we must have sat there for about thirty minutes, him shaking in his seat, me trying to talk my hands into strangling the life out of him.

_I don't have the time for this now. _I turned the car back on. He breathed in a sigh of relief.

"My name is Francisco. Francisco Montoya." He said.

"I don't give two craps what your name is, I have business to take care of." I spat.

"Could you roll down the window, then?" he asked.

I rolled down the window without complaint. Montoya reached into the back seat and pulled out a Diamondhead. He threw it out the window.

"That was in the backseat when I came. I killed it with my guitar." He said. "Three times, I've saved your life now."

I glance back into the road at the dead Rattle Snake. Even from twenty yards away, the huge snake was still visible.

_Right, Ricky. Lolita is over it._

_**--KK--**_

I spot Ricky sitting at a table filled with food. I walk over to him, Montoya close behind me. Ricky looks up, and shoots me his warmest smile.

"Who's the kid?" Ricky asks.

"Stray dog I picked up in Mexico." I said, dropping my suitcase next to him.

"An accomplice? Well, it never hurt to have a second pair of prints on a gun, if you know what I mean. Don't just stand there, sit down! Both of you!" Ricky said.

I slumped into a seat next to him. Montoya pulled a chair close to me and sat down. I ignored him, and watched Ricky. He met my eyes, finished what he was chewing, and took out his suitcase.

"You are going to love me," Ricky said.

"I doubt that."

" You are going to want to order the special dessert, take me across the street to the Hilton, and lick it off me you will love me so much." He smiled.

"Oh, this is going to be good," I said, rolling my eyes.

Ricky pulled out a file and handed it to me.

"Black Mamba didn't cut off one of Sofie's arms. She cut off both." Ricky said.

Silence.

"That better not be it." I say.

"No, no, no, no, no. You see, the morning _following_ the showdown at the House Of Blue Leaves, someone found an arm that had been severed at the elbow in the snow. They contacted the police, and because it was still cold, it was brought to the hospital." Ricky said.

"I don't see where you are going with this."

Ricky looked up with a mad gleam in his eye.

"Sofie's stumps had already been sewn up. HOWEVER—someone was there that day. Someone with enough influence to get a very, very risky procedure done to return said lost arm to rightful owner. Someone with enough influence to have his name and her name kept out of hospital records."

"Bill." I said.

"Bingo. He thought of almost everything—almost. A lot of people were in the hospital that day. All of them had missing eyes, legs, hands, arms, feet… _you know_. Anyway, the hospital was full of people getting treated for cut off body parts, but the records show only one person got something put back on. That person checks out of the hospital two weeks later, and disappears from Japan without a name to identify her…only a documented procedure done on a Jane Doe and her blood type." Ricky said.

I shift to the edge of my seat.

"And halfway around the world, about seven years later, a woman is born at age thirty-five." He continued. "A wealthy, beautiful defense attorney dressed like a Star trek villain takes Paris by storm. Her beauty and litigation skills leave her face on many business magazines, and many people would be willing to—_ahem_—cut off an arm to get her. Her blood type was the only signature I needed to dig into her medical files. The public was never aware, but she had a prosthetic left arm until 2020."

"2020? Did it grow back?" I asked.

"In a way. In twenty, she became one of the first people in the word to receive a biomechanical false arm. Almost identical to a real arm skeleton, it moves with ease, and is touch sensitive. It has to be worked on constantly—but she has been sustaining herself very well with her law firm. The arm pays for itself. You gonna open that file or what?" Ricky asked.

I yank open the file like a kid opening a Christmas present. I pull out a pamphlet with a giant triangular skyscraper on the front. In bold dark letters on the bottom—Ayuma and Miroux: Attorneys at Law.

"She calls herself Mercedes Ayuma. She got a nose job and some shady bodyguards, so know one has looked too far into her past. Besides_, rats don't hide in the public eye_. Her firm just merged with Miroux a few months ago. If you get on a plane now, you can talk to her by tomorrow." Ricky says.

I grab Ricky and kiss him with all my might. He pulls himself into me.

"Am I on fire or what?" he whispers.

"You're burning up, Ricky. If I didn't have a plane to catch, I'd go ahead and order that dessert." I say, pulling away from him and getting up.

"Did you just say that because Lolita is watching?" Ricky asked, gesturing to the rafters.

"Not even Lolita can strum on my harp strings right now. Tell her I'll fuck her up for the snake when I get back." I say, picking up my suitcase. Ricky laughs to himself.

"Nothing ever stops you does it, Baby Cobra?" he asks.

"Nothing yet." I answer.

_**--KK--**_

"Paris. One way." I say, putting my passport down on the counter.

"Do you have luggage you want to check in?" the woman behind the desk asks.

I open my mouth to say no when a guitar case swings onto the scale.

"This will fit on the plane, yes?"

I turn around. _The Acuna Boy_. I'd forgotten all about him.

"What the fuck?" I spit at Montoya.

"Do I need a passport?" he asks.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blue bound passport.

"The hell did you get that?" I whispered.

"Your…gentlemen friend. I took it from him." He said with a grin.

"What are you doing?"

"What am _I_ doing? I am going with you." He says.

"Like hell you are." I say.

"I can pay for my own ticket." He said, pulling out a handful of hundred dollar bills.

"Kid, I have no use for an Acuna Boy pick pocket on this mission. Go. You are unneeded." I said.

"Should I contact security?" the woman behind the counter asked.

"No. Just give me a minute." I said, pulling Montoya away.

"You must have a death wish…" I began.

"Don't you believe in destiny?" Montoya asked.

I didn't say anything. _If my sia swords weren't tucked away in the special case in my bag…_

"No. I don't." I said.

"Well, I do." He said. "I knew it the moment I saw you sitting at the bar. Even…even after you injured me, I still knew it."

"I shoved a shot glass in your eye and pulled it out."

"And you fixed it. You are right—what you said in the car? Yes, you could have killed me. You could have killed me many times. But you have not. And you won't. Something is stopping you." He said.

"If I wanted a sermon, I'd go to church." I said.

"We would both be dead. I without you, you without me. We will save time by staying together." He said.

I caught him in the neck and shoved him to the ground.

"You don't know what you are saying. You are a kid. Go home." I say.

Montoya chokes. He sucks in a deep breath, and begins to pull himself to his feet.

"I may be young…but I am more sure of this than anything in my…my _pathetic_ life. I… am meant to go with you." He says.

_Yep. He's pathetic, all right_. I turn my back on him.

"You need me, Baby Copperhead." He calls.

I stop in my tracks. I spin around to face him.

"What…_what did you just call me_?" I demanded.

Montoya sucked in a deep breath.

"I called you what that man called you." He responded.

"No, the man called me Baby Cobra. THAT'S my codename."

Montoya stood up straight and looked me over. He shook his head.

"No. It is what the man called you, but…it is not you. You are a Copperhead. It is signed on your neck…"

He takes a step toward me.

"…And in your eyes." He finishes.

I suck in a breath of air. This kid has left me speechless many times. In rage and in disbelief. But now…nothing. I comb through my mind, trying to find an emotion I can right this off as. Anything I can get rid of with sharp things and fists. Montoya is staring into my eyes, looking for something. A sign? A spark?

Anything at all?

I turn back around and walk up to the counter. I hand the woman my credit card.

"I'll be needing another one way ticket to Paris." I say.

Montoya walks up behind me. He rests his hand on my shoulder.

"You will see, Nikki. This is all meant to happen." He says to me.

I turn back around and grab his wrist.

"Rule number one—you do not touch me. Ever." I say.

"I understand." He says.

I let go of his hand.

"You have one chance, and one chance alone to show me your worth." I tell him.

"Gracias. Thank you."

I bend down and pick up my bag. He did the same with his guitar case. The woman hands us our tickets, and I take off down the hall. Montoya follows close behind.

"You slow me down, you get in my way and I leave you. You _try_ anything…while I'm asleep, or if I were to get hurt…"

"I would never." Montoya said solemnly.

"I won't hesitate to kill you if you do." I say.

We approached security. Montoya put his guitar case on the conveyor belt and looked at me, a gleam in his eye.

"You will not regret this. I promise you." He said.

"I doubt that." I mumble to myself.

* * *

This chapter took a lot of research. They never show exactly what Beatrix cut off of Sofie, and I had to go through IMDB for about an hour to find out that they show Sofie's other arm getting cut off in the Japanese release of Kill Bill. I want my story to be as accurate to what Quentin wanted without me having to kidnap him. I'm a bit tired right now, so if there are any grammatical errors, I'll correct them within the next few days.

Thank you for reading, and if you have any questions or suggestions, give me a holla!


	10. Snake and Mouse

Authors Note- well I'll be damned. I didn't think there were any readers left on the Kill Bill section, much less anyone left reading my fanfic. So here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it!!

Disclaimer- I do not own Nikki Bell or Sofie Fatale.

**KILL KIDDO: CHAPTER 10**

**Location**: **Paris, France**

**Date: 9/28/24**

Montoya whistled as I walked out of the Boutique.

"That looks expensive." he said, gesturing to the silk business suit I had bought.

I ignore him. The Acuna Boy didn't say a word to me on the plane, which was smart. But after he had eaten, watched the in flight movie, and pocketed seven wallets from the people who walked past him, I had already made up my mind about him.

"I mean, expensive for something you're just going to get blood all over." he furthered.

_Jesus Christ, this kid is annoying. _

"I'm not going to get blood all over it." I mumbled.

" You're an assassin, right?" he asked.

"Assassins adapt to their situations. In a place like Acuna, I don't hold back. In a major city I conduct my business in an eloquent and graceful fashion." I said.

"Your skirt is caught in your panties." he said.

I jerked backward and twisted around, and Montoya cracked up.

"Even an assassin is not immune to that one." he laughed.

I grab him by his neck and slam him against the wall.

"You little fuck." I hissed.

He puts his hands up.

"I'm sorry. It was a mean trick to play!" he coughed.

I star to squeeze my fingers around his windpipe, but there he goes closing his eyes and looking all pathetic again. I let him go.

"You remember what your Acuna back sass got you when Esteban was still kickin'?" I asked.

Montoya sucked in a deep breath, and extended his left hand. the top of his hand and three of his fingers had a dark angry scar that came to a point a few inch down from his knuckles. The nail on his pinkie was missing.

_A hot iron. _

"Remember the time you got that the next time you test my sense of humor. It will be a nice distraction from the pain." I say.

He nods. We keep walking.

**_--KK--_**

We follow the address to the Ayuma and Miroux law firm. The triangular building must be over thirty stories high. I could tell it freaked the hell out of the Acuna Boy. The inside was more like a mall then a building. The floors were all open, and the triangular design gave it a small top floor, which I assumed had some café or something on it. I asked the desk for Merceds Ayuma's floor.

The twenty-first.

I turned away from the desk and pointed to a bench.

"You," I said to Montoya. "Park it."

Montoya obediently sat down. I walked over to the escalator.

"Good luck." he called.

Her office had a metal door, but glass paneling on the walls. The room was covered in display shit- an old radio with an antenna, a wood clock, a bamboo fountain. She passed the floor behind her desk, cell phone pressed firmly into her ear. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the electronic scrambler Ricky had given me years ago. I pressed it up against the lock, and waited for the deadbolt to throw. _Click_.

_Show Time. _

I stepped into the office and slammed the door. Sofie looked up from her cell phone and frowned.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Miss Mercedes Ayuma. I know I don't have an appointment, but I can assure you …you'll want to take up my case." I said.

Sofie didn't move the phone from her ear. She reached under the desk, probably for some security button.

"Don't worry, Miss Ayuma. I've made sure our meeting doesn't go interrupted." I say, pointing the scrambler at her and pressing down on the button.

Sofie yanked her phone away as it blared static.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" she said in a nasally accent.

"You haven't been keeping up with your English, have you?" I asked, plopping down in a chair. "All as well. I don't speak much French, but I'm fluent in Japanese."

She stared at me, eyes slanted.

"I do not know what you are speaking of. I know no Japanese, despite my heritage."

"Yes, it would be a little too convenient if you knew Japanese." I smiled.

"What are you on about?" she asked.

"It was very clever, hiding in the public eye as a defense attorney. I bet many people don't even know the arm is robotic."

Her eyes widened. She looked at her arm.

" It's the gloves. Dead give away…Sofie Fatale."

Sofie was up and around the table in a heartbeat. I yanked out my sia swords. She grabbed the antique radio and pulled out the antenna. I stood up and walked to her.

"You do not know with whom you are messing with, little girl," Sofie said.

"…_Little girl_?" I asked.

She jabbed out her elbow and retracted it back in. the antenna sliced my upper lip. I didn't flinch. I licked the blood away, and continued forward.

"I'm sorry, did you call me a little girl?" I asked.

She whipped the antenna at me again. I caught it between the prongs of my sai sword. She yanked the antenna, trying to disarm me.

"GoGo Yubari was a little girl." I said. "I'm something else…"

I twisted the blade of my sword, pulling the end of the antenna to the tips of her fingers. I pushed the sword forward, and the antenna pierced her index finger. She grimaced in pain and confusion.

I smiled at her. I yanked my sword back, and she screamed. I flicked my sword, and let the antenna with her speared finger fall to the floor. She stared at in horror.

"What I am?" I said, crushing the bloody finger with my foot. "It ain't human."

Sofie screamed. She screamed again and again. She slid around me and ran for the door. I took off right behind her.

She ran down the hall, pushing people out of the way. By the time I had worked my way through the crowd, she was running down the escalator.

Oh, my aching back… I jumped over the guardrail and let myself fall. I braced myself as I hit the up escalator. I let it carry me up until the two escalators crossed, and then I jumped over. I landed right in front of Sofie. She turned and started running up, which on a down escalator is futile and ridicules. She realized this quickly, and climbed over to the rising escalator.

I swung over after her, but fear had granted her wings. I already saw her elbowing her way through people. By the time I reached the top, she was running to the escalators on the side. The doors closed seconds before I approached it. I eased my two blades in between the doors and pulled them apart with some difficulty. I jumped into darkness, then buckled as my feet hit her lowering elevator. _Thank you Jeebus, a vent! _

Sofie was huddled in the corner of the elevator, breathing heavily. She cradled her four-fingered hand in her robotic one. As I dropped down next to her, she ran to the elevator. I kicked her back, and tapped the top floor button with the base of my sword.

"Now, now, Miss Fatale…" I said. "I think when I've finished my story, you will be more then willing to take on my case."

_**--KK--**_

I yanked Sofie out of the elevator by her hair. She clawed and kicked. People at tables stared as we passed.

I pulled her over to the guardrail, and swung her over by her robot arm. Her shoes slipped off her feet and fell down the thirty something stories below.

" Do I have your attention, now?" I asked.

"FUCK YOU!!" she yelled.

I took one of my sia swords and stabbed her robotic arm. She screamed, and the people watching screamed as well. I pushed the blade through her arm, and pinned her to the guardrail.

"How about now?" I asked.

She whimpered. Tears began to form in her eyes.

"The nerves in your arm must be extremely sensitive. You probably should have gotten a cheaper one." I said, letting go of her.

I could hear a mechanical grunting sound. Her arm was breaking. Her fingers twitched out of control, and her palm clenched and unclenched.

"Now, are you going to listen to me?" I asked.

"Who sent you?!" she cried.

"Copperhead. I'm sure you met her." I said.

She squinted her eyes, either in confusion or pain.

"…Verneda?" she asked.

"Bingo. Twenty years ago, a snake found it's way into her house and hammered a fang into her chest." I said. "I'm sure you can relate…"

The sleeve of her shirt ripped at the seem, revealing her robotic arm—a long crack down it's plastic casing.

"That snake would not know where my mom lived unless it didn't have explicate directions as to where she was. Those directions? They came from you. So, please don't think this is how I normally conduct my business affairs." I said.

I reached over the railing and twisted the blade.

"I just have a personal grudge against you." I said.

"FREEZE!!"

Several men in uniforms came out of the escalator. They pointed some nasty machine guns at me. _Bodyguards? Wondered when they would show up._

"Drop her!!" one yelled in French.

"She'll be dropping shortly." I said. I looked back down at her.

"Ready to talk?" I asked.

"What do you want?!" Sofie cried.

"Where's Black Mamba?!" I yelled.

Her arm was starting to stretch. The black joint in her shoulder socket was disconnecting from the rest of her arm. Sliver wires were coming out.

"I…I don't know…" she cried.

"Wrong answer." I said.

A hand wrapped around my shoulder. Before I knew who it was, I grabbed it and flipped it forward. The security guard went flying past Sofie. We could hear him yelling right up until the loud crash where he collided with the ground. I turned back to the other security guards.

"Do I look like I would respond well to surprises?" I asked. "All of you clowns, fuck off."

"Now Sofie, everyone knows how close you and O-ren were to Bill. I know he visited you at the hospital and helped you change your identity. Someone that deep in the loop must know something." I said.

"I swear!! I know nothing!!" she cried.

_Liar._

"Well, that's a shame, Sofie. All as well. Send my regards to that bodyguard for me." I said.

I reached over and yanked my sword out.

"NO, PLEASE WAIT!!" she screamed.

I jumped over and hooked my feet on the railing. I grabbed onto her.

"You know something?" I asked.

"I…I know something…it's not much…" she mumbled.

I threw her over the railing and swung up after her. I put the blade to her neck and stood her up.

"Let's do business." I said.

_**--KK--**_

Sofie lead me back down to her office. We had no problem with security after she explained the situation to them. She held her dangling arm to her body with her bloody, mutilated hand. I pulled off my scarf and handed it to her to stop the bleeding. She took it without a word.

We walked into the office, and she went behind her desk. With her only functional hand, she opened up a file cabinet and started sifting through it.

"You're Vernita's daughter, right?" she asked in Japanese.

"Yes." I responded.

"You look like her," she said.

My sai sword found its way out of my hand and spun into the wall next to her face. She turned and looked at me. It had scraped the skin off the tip of her nose.

"You have no right to talk about my mother, rat. NO RIGHT. Mention her again, and I'll cut off your other arm." I spat.

Sofie turned around and started yanking files out. I walked up behind her and pulled my sword out of the wall just as she took out a huge Japanese sandal wood box.

"Bill left everything in his will to me." She said.

"Bullshit." I said. "Even if Bill would provide a document with his name on it, why you? Why not his daughter?" I asked.

"Because if he were to die under the circumstances he foresaw, his daughter would be halfway across the country by the time his body was discovered. With the rest of the vipers assumed dead, the only person to pass on his wealth to was me." She said.

"Possibly plausible. Am I to assume that Bill asked Black Mamba where she was going before she killed him?" I asked.

Sofie opened the box and rooted through it. She pulled out pictures, a strange looking flute, some rings. Finally, she pulled out an envelope and handed it to me.

"This was found in his home. I got to it before the police did, so no one's seen it but me." She said.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a crinkled piece of yellow notebook paper. The heading was written in bold black letters.

**DEATH LIST FIVE**

**1 :O-ren Ishii**

**2: Vernita Green**

**3: Budd**

**4: Elle Driver**

**5: BILL**

My eyes lingered at the second name. A red mark sliced through it_. This mark was probably made moments after my mom died_. It sent a shiver down my spine. I looked at the other names, and stopped at number four. Elle Driver. California Mountain Snake.

There was no red dash. Instead, a curving red question mark.

"Driver?" I asked.

"_The hateful bitch_." Sofie said in Japanese.

"I take it you didn't get along?" I asked.

"The only person who got along with her was Bill. She had no sense of honor whatsoever. Her techniques for fighting, killing, anything…they were all below the belt." Sofie said.

"You're one to talk about honor."

Sofie ignored me.

"She and Beatrix despised each other." Sofie finished.

"So why would Beatrix not assure she was really dead?" I asked.

"How should I know?" Sofie asked.

We were both silent. I looked at the paper. I felt it, flipped it over.

"Is… this enough to let me live?" Sofie asked.

I sighed and folded the note up. I put it in my pocket.

"Keep your wretched life. I don't want it. Although I will probably need you to accompany me to the lobby to keep the security guards at bay." I said, standing up.

Sofie snorted.

"I told them to leave you alone, in my presence or not." She said.

I looked at her strangely.

"And what inspired that act of generosity?" I asked.

Sofie stared at me. She shook her head.

"You think I don't want Beatrix Kiddo dead? Look what she's done to me." Sofie said, pulling out her robotic arm so I could see how it connected. I could see the flesh around it, covered in stitches and scars.

"Glad to know we're on the same page, cyborg. Thanks for the note." I said.

Sofie cocked her head, and sat down in her seat.

"Fuck the blonde bitch up good." She yelled as I walked out the door.

I rode the escalator down to the lobby. Sofie had kept her word—the security guards didn't come near me. People in the lobby stared at me as I walked over to Montoya. He stood up.

"You didn't see who threw that man off the top floor, did you?" Montoya asked.

A few minutes ago, a comment like that would have sent me off the edge. Now, with the note in my pocket, I decide to humor him.

"Shut up, smart-ass." I said.

"What happened to conducting business in an eloquent, graceful fashion?" he asked.

"Didn't pan out. I work better in a violent, threatening mess. " I said as we walked to the door.

The group of people crowded around parted to let us through.

"I'm beginning to learn that about you." Montoya said.

* * *

And thus concludes this chapter of Kill Kiddo, and my supply of pre-written chapters (at least the chronological ones…hintity-hint-hint). I'm going to be busy with school since it is the final quarter, but whenever I have the free time and if it seems like people are still reading, then I shall write. Ideas, suggestions, comments, you know the drill! Write on!!


	11. Revelations

Authors Note- Hello readers! It's summer, and the weight of the world is off my shoulders! Sorry about the longness of the updating. I got into a little writers block spell. But now it's over, and here's a new chapter!! Oh, and if anyone wants to see some concept art, I've got a teeny tiny picture of Nikki on my account now.

Disclaimer- I don't own the name Nikki Bell or her quest to kill Black Mamba, but all the cool shit she does…that I do own, and hope to use in a book/graphic novel.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 11**

**Location: London, England **

**Date: 9/28/24**

"Why are we stopping here?" Montoya asked as we walked into a department store.

"Because," I said through grit teeth. "You are still wearing the same shirt and jeans from when I yanked your eye out of your head. You smell like sweat and blood and people keep watching us walk by and it's making me nervous."

Montoya looked down at his filthy clothes.

"Will your friends American money work here?" he asked.

"I will pay for it."

"You won't leave me here, will you?" he asked.

"I'm a wanted assassin who let a minor see her face." I said. " You're a problem to me alive. You are a bigger problem if I let you escape. Now go."

Montoya looked down uncertainly before walking to the men's section. I turn on my heals towards the restrooms. Thankfully, it was a single room. I walk in, close the door, and pull out my cell.

"BABY!" Ricky greets me. "So? Am I the man? Did you get what you wanted? Hey, did your friend take my wallet?"

"Hey Ricky. You were right—it was Sofie. Rat didn't know anything though. Just dropped another name."

"Tough luck. So… what are you going to ask me about this time?" Ricky asked.

"This is long shot but…Elle Driver?" I ventured.

Ricky didn't say anything.

"Ricky?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure she's dead." Ricky said.

"Pretty sure?" I said.

"Well, not entirely after this whole Sofie thing. But…they found a body." He said.

"Cause of death?" I asked.

"You know, last time I checked up on the DiVAS was when me and you first met. Hold up."

Ricky paused, checking something on his laptop I presume.

"Okay," Ricky began. "A woman and a mans body were both found dead in a trailer out in the middle of nowhere. Keep in mind the woman was never identified and the man had a fake ID and a cowboy hat from El Paso, so…"

"So we assume that the guy is River Side-Winder. How'd they die?" I ask.

"Okay, now this was tricky. The whole trailer was set on fire and both of the bodies were burned, but they were able to conclude that they died from the venom of a Black Mamba. Woman had a lot of blood loss. Missing both eyes, although they found one smushed and singed in the bathroom…"

I slam my fist into the side of the wall. _Damnit_.

"Do you still think you could look into it for me? I mean, I know it's a crapshoot, but Ricky, I'm so close to this. I can taste it."

No answer.

"Ricky? You there?" I asked.

"Are you still in France?" Ricky demanded.

"What? Um, no. The Acuna boy and me caught a train out to London hours ago."

Ricky cleared his throat.

"The French Police are looking for you. Or someone who looks a lot like you with two sai swords and a Latino accomplice. " Ricky said.

_Shit._

"Where does it say that?" I demanded.

"It doesn't matter, but there's a bunch of shit here. It says you took the Ayuma and Miroux building hostage and sliced a bunch of people up with a sword."

"That's bullshit." I mumbled. "I only killed one guy."

"Well, I suggest you and your accomplice get out of Europe, like now." Ricky said.

"Thanks for the heads up." I say.

I drop the phone in the toilet, flush, and get the fuck out of there. I run into the men's section and into the changing rooms.

"Acuna Boy!" I yell. "Montoya!!"

The door at the end of the hall opens. Montoya comes out, wearing gray jeans and a black silk shirt.

"What's up?" he asks.

"We're leaving."

I grab him and yank him out of the dressing room. He grabbed onto the broken strap of his guitar case.

"Shouldn't we pay for this?" He asked, gesturing to his new clothes.

"We don't have the time." I say.

"But…your friends passport and money are still in the dressing room…" he mumbles.

I clicked the electronic scrambler in my pocket as we walked out of the door.

"What's going on?" Montoya asked.

_Shit. There were already police. _

"Go back in!" I whispered.

Montoya and me backed up into the store. As we walked through the isles, I saw a cop talking to a cashier.

Aw fuck. _Fuck_.

I pulled Montoya back through the storage room.

"We need to get to the airport." I said.

"I thought we were going to stay here for a few days."

"That was before the police found us. Plans have changed." I whispered.

We ran through the back exit. I looked around for something, anything…_Aha. A moped._

"You can hotwire that, right?" I asked Montoya.

"Sure." Montoya shrugged. "Give me your knife."

I passed him my sai sword, and turned and looked back to the exit.

A gun leveled to my head.

"Hands on your head! Both of you!!" the cop yelled.

I turned and looked back at Montoya. He made eye contact with me before running away.

**_--KK--_**

"Arrange for a squad car to take her away. We'll need extra security…"

"You know, London was so much nicer before you got rid of gun control." I said from down on the ground.

The cop ignored me. It was hard to see from the way they had my face pressed into the gravel, but I think it was safe to say there were at least four cops around me. They had already cuffed me and taken away my scrambler, my sia sword, and my wallet.

"Jesus Christ." One said. "She must have over a hundred thousand dollars in this…"

I roll my eyes. _Fucken cops_. They've only caught me a twice, and I've only been in a squad car once, and that was back when I first started working for Ricky. When it comes to cops, it's all about finding the right opportunity.

"Her ID's fake, her drivers license is fake…"

_Wait for it…wait for it…_

"What do you reckon this is?" one cop said, holding up the scrambler.

I flip over on my back and kick the cop's legs out. He falls, the scrambler drops, and the button gets pushed.

As the cops close their eyes to the sound of their ear fixtures breaking apart, I pull my legs through my cuffed arms. I go up to the cop on the ground, yank my sword outa his hands, and put it to his neck.

"Uncuff me." I demand, pulling him up.

" Bitch." The cop moans.

"Uncuff me or I'll rip your throat out." I say.

One of the other cops walks over and, gun put on ground, he unlocks my handcuffs. I walk backward, holding his friend in front of me.

"Wherever you go, we're going to find you." The cop says.

" I'm not looking for any trouble. All of you just walk away. Nobody has to get hurt." I say.

The cop elbows me, right in my old bullet wound. On reflex, I slash his neck.

"SHOOT HER!!"

_Why does no one ever listen to me?_

The cop wasn't even dead before they started pumping him full of bullets. I twisted his neck, turned him around, and used him as a shield. The cops file out and start pushing me up against the wall. A bullet goes through the cop's side and nicks me. Unlike the last time when I was numbed by adrenaline, I feel it. I sink down.

"Cease fire!" one of the cops says. He walks up to me. I put my sword out to him, and he points his gun at my head.

I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. The cop gasps and falls forward, a sai sword stuck in his side.

It takes the two standing men a moment to realize that I didn't throw the sword. They hear the roar of the motorcycle, but Montoya is quick. They turn around, and he meets them with his guitar case at thirty an hour. They're both down.

Montoya turns the motorcycle around and stops in front of me. I stare at him.

"What?" he asks.

I yank my sword out of the dead cop, pick up the rest of my stuff, and get on.

_**--KK--**_

**Mercedes Ayuma—formally known as Sofie Fatale—sat cross-legged on a metal chair. Shirtless and bloody, she had her robotic arm stretched before her on a hospital table. As the doctor behind her wielded together wires inside her shoulder blade, Her mechanical fingers twitched. **

"**You incompetent fucks!" Sofie yelled.**

**The five bodyguards on the other side of the room exchanged glances. One of them finally ventured forward.**

"**With all due respect Miss Ayuma…"  
**

**Sofie Fatale screamed. She reached across the table, picked up a sharp tool, and flung it across the room. While normally she would have caught one of the men in the throat, the hand she used was covered in bandages and still numb. The knife slid across the floor. **

"**I just reattached that finger…" the Doctor mumbled. **

"**I said I didn't want any police to go after her!!" Sofie yelled. " I said no one finds out about this!" **

"**This was out of our control, Miss Ayuma. Someone was killed in the building. A person in the lobby called the police." **

"**You will contact the police." Sofie instructed. "And you will tell them it was a misunderstanding. Give them a different description of the girl. I don't care what you have to do. JUST FIX IT." **

**Two of the bodyguards nodded, and then exited the room. The doctor used this moment of silence to speak up.**

"**The damage is pretty severe…" he began.**

**Sofie motioned for him to continue. **

"**We're going to have to replace the entire plastic exterior. As for the metal endoskeleton…we can save the forearm, wrist, and shoulder blade, but everything else is damaged beyond repair."**

**Sofie looked down at her fingers. She twitched them.**

"**I can move it still." She said.**

"**I know you're moving it. The wires are sparking at the top." The doctor said gently.**

"**Piece of shit." Sofie mumbled.**

"**You know Mercedes," The doctor said, "A human arm would have snapped off in that situation."**

**A cell phone rang. One of the three remaining bodyguards walked to Sofie and handed it to her.**

"**I wasn't talking about the arm." Sofie said.**

**As she opened the phone, a long, metallic screech echoed through the hall. Two of the three bodyguards pulled out their guns and opened the door.**

"**What is it?" Sofie demanded, closing her phone.**

" **I don't see anything…" **

**As the two men looked down, they both pulled their hands to their faces in disgust. **

"**My god…" one whispered. The other pressed his earpiece.**

"**Come in. We are up here with Miss Ayuma. Someone has killed two of her guards. We need back up. Come in. Can…Can anybody hear me,"—**

**Sofie could not see past the bodyguards. All she could see was the long, metal blade protruding from the man's back. The blade retracted, and as the bodyguard collapsed, Sofie saw a young girl in black, drenched in blood. The other guard grabbed her and pointed the gun to her head.**

"**Who the hell are you?!" he demanded.**

**The girl looked the man in the eye for a moment. She then rolled her eyes back to Sofie. **

"**Do you know this girl?" The guard demanded.**

**The metallic screech echoed through the air once more. Neither the bodyguard nor Sofie had time to react. Sofie saw the line of blood trickle down the guard's throat, and watched with wide eyes as his head toppled off onto the floor. **

**He collapsed, and a young man behind him sheathed his sword. The two stepped over the bloody bodies and into the room. Sofie first glanced at the doctor, then to the one remaining bodyguard who stood between her and the bloody pair that entered the room. The guard pulled the trigger on his gun.**

**The girl tucked in her legs and dropped to the ground. Without a sound, she reached out and grabbed the surgical knife Sofie had thrown across the room. She pulled herself up, retracted her arm, and threw the skinny knife at the guard. Sofie closed her eyes as warm blood splattered across her face. When she opened them, the knife was in the wall, and the guard had dropped his gun. Blood oozed thickly out of the two holes on the front and back of his head.**

"**How…" he mumbled. His eyes rolled back into his head. **

**The girl stayed in place. Her male counterpart wiped the blood off his sword, and proceeded to Sofie. Without so much as looking at the cowering doctor on the floor, he slit his throat as he walked by. **

"**Six hours ago," he began. "You were contacted by a woman. She is muscular, and of African decent. She has been identified by the yin-yang tattooed on her ankle and the snake tattooed on her neck as assassin Codename Baby Cobra. You will repeat for us the conversation you had with her, as well as any additional information as to where you believe she is going." **

**Sofie took a moment and twitched the fingers on her robotic arm. Although the doctor had disconnected her artificial nerves, she could feel a vague burning deep inside her back. **

**The man walked closer to her, and lowered his face till it was an inch from hers. **

"**Six hours ago…" he began.**

"**Shut up." Sofie said. Oddly enough, she began laughing.**

**The girl stepped forward with her sword raised. As she did, the young man's cellphone rang. He picked it up. **

"**Target escaped capture from police. She is now on a plane, bound to Ontario, Canada. Sadako and I stayed behind as instructed. Affirmative." The man said. **

**He listened for a moment, then passed the phone to Sofie.**

"**Who is this?" Sofie demanded.**

"**I was hoping to speak with you before you died. How's life, Sofie?" the woman on the other end of the phone asked.**

**Sofie was beyond fear at this point. She was exhausted. Exhausted from hiding. From running a law firm. From the constant surgery and pain her robotic arm gave her. She was tired of begging for her wretched life. And perhaps it was all the painkillers clouding her judgement, but suddenly, her entire situation was both extremely pathetic and funny.**

"**Shity." She answered honestly. **

"**I'm sorry to hear that." The woman said sincerely.**

"**So…" Sofie asked, glancing over to the two in black. "Who's the young couple? I assume the girl's name is Sadako?" **

"**You assume correctly. The boy is Akira." The woman said. "You may, however, know them as Mononoke and Serenity." **

"**THESE TWO? These two are Mononoke and Serenity? They were creating a lot of commotion in Tokyo a while back. Right before they disappeared." Sofie said.**

"**Five years ago last month, actually. However, they've given up those names and the titles that went with them. They work for me now." **

"**Funny you're letting me know all this." Sofie said.**

**The woman on the other end chuckled.**

"**You don't honestly think I intend to let you live?" She asked.**

"**Of course I don't." Sofie said. "I just find it odd that you're having someone do your dirty work for you." **

"**I've been a little busy these past twenty years." The woman said.**

**Sofie frowned.**

"**I don't think that's it." Sofie said. "I think…you're worried. This girl…Vernita's daughter…she's very good. And who knows, twenty years is a long time—you've probably lost your edge. I think…maybe…you're worried that this girl might be better then you." **

"…**Maybe, Sofie. Who knows? I guess I'll find out when the two of us meet." The woman said. **

"**Oh, and before you go?" Sofie said.**

"**What is it, Sofie?" The woman asked. **

**Sofie looked down at her robotic hand. She lifted it up to her head and brushed the hair out of her face. Her arm sparked as she did so, but she didn't care. She swallowed her fear, her pain, her everything. And when she spoke, it was clear, it was calm, and in her opinion, the most fitting last words she could have said.**

"**I hope with every fiber of my being—you heartless, fucking blonde bitch—that when Baby Cobra finds you, she'll cut you up into little, bloody pieces." Sofie said.**

**The voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a moment.**

"**You're going to know what that's like very shortly. Goodbye, Sofie Fatale." The woman said as she hung up.**

* * *

I hope everyone was okay with the cop part. I would have finished this chapter months ago if I could've gotten over my fear of screwing with Quentin's world of no cops in Kill Bill. Sorry to cut Nikki's part in this chapter so short, but Sofie's final moment wouldn't have fit in well with next chapter. On a related note: next chapter (and possible part of the one after it) Nikki will be recalling her past. These include how she met Ricky, some tripy, gory fight scenes, her life in New York with her boyfriend, and the first appearance of the long time talked about but never revealed Lolita!! (She's crazy.)

Thank you for all your encouragement to keep this going. If there are any errors, I'll be back to correct them. For now, I'm just happy I can finally update something. Any comments, ideas, suggestions, anything, you know what to do! By the way, if any of you want to take a look at some of my other artwork, I recently got a robot picture into Mad Magazine, issue 490. So, until next time…

Here it is, your moment of Zen!


	12. How Nikki Met Ricky

Authors Note: hey everybody! Welcome to chapter 12, the longest chapter so far! In this chapter, Nikki has a little bonding moment with Montoya, then we take a look into Nikki's past to see: 1- How Nikki and Ricky met; and 2: a showdown between Nikki and Lolita! A lot of this stuff was actually written a long time ago. **You may want to refresh on chapter 4 before reading.** Let's do this!

Disclaimer: I do not own Nikki Bell or anything else in the Kill Bill universe. I do own everything else, and I plan on using it some day.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 12**

**Location: Midair**

**Date: 9/29/24**

"For future reference, I'd prefer that you hotwire a car." I yawned. " Especially when you don't know what side of the road to drive on."

The Acuna Boy shot me an embarrassed look.

"I do not know how to drive a car. Only a motorcycle." He said.

As he spoke, Montoya twirled the chain around his neck between his fingers. I glanced at the gold cross on the end.

"You catholic?" I ask.

He looks up at me, and holds up the chain.

"My father gave it to my mother." He said.

"Your mom wasn't a hooker?" I asked.

Montoya dropped the chain.

"She was. She spoke to me about my father. She says he was a good man." He furthered.

"Guess he tipped good." I said.

Montoya shrugged off my yo momma dig and smiled.

"She said it was raining out when she met him. She was looking at a necklace, this necklace in a store window. And then he came, and he asked her did she want the necklace? He went into the store and bought it for her, and when he came out, it was no longer raining. He didn't even care that her face had been…mutilated by Esteban."

I take a swig of green tea.

"So why did you leave her?" I asked.

"I did not." Montoya says. "She died years ago. Syphilis."

"Sorry," I say.

We sit in silence. Montoya reaches for his coke.

"Did that woman give you the information you wanted?" Montoya asked.

"She gave me a name. But it probably won't help, because the person is dead. I have someone double-checking it…just in case." I yawned.

"Your friend? Richie?"

"Ricky," I corrected.

"Is he an assassin too?" Montoya asked.

I laugh.

"He's an agent." I answer.

"What's that?"

I hesitate. I'm starting to get used to Montoya, but I don't trust him. Although there's no way he'd ever do anything with this information, it feels cheap giving it away to someone like him. To a pickpocket Acuna Boy. To a kid. Then again, it's not like I'm ever going back to it, is it?

No…nothing is sacred anymore.

"An agent for assassins. Let's say someone wants someone dead but they don't want to dirty their hands. They go to someone like Ricky to find them a hitman. Ricky gathers a file on the person and arranges for the kill, and he takes twenty to forty percent out of the payoff." I say.

"Doesn't sound like he does much." Montoya laughs.

"More often then not, his percentage adds up to half a million."

Montoya coughs into his soda can.

"So...you work for him?" Montoya asked.

I look out the window of the plane and into the clouds, a faint smile fighting its way across my face.

"I used to." I say.

_**--KK--**_

**Location: Memory Lane- Tokyo, Japan**

**Date: 12/04/22**

I turned down the alley, and walked up the short flight of concrete stairs to the studio. I took the key I had, and opened the door.

Seven guns pointed at me as I walked in.

"Othello," I said loudly. The word.

The guns lowered, and I closed the door.

Three people stood in the middle of the room, over a Caucasian man tied to a chair. I looked over at the four men sitting around a sofa and bamboo table, reading and drinking coffee. One looked up at me and signaled that it would only take a bit more time. I dropped my bag on the ground and watched the show.

"We're not playing games, Richard. I think a man with your intelligence must realize this by now," a young woman said, walking in front of him. "I'm getting to the end of my rope. I ask you again—what happened to Kenji?"

Richard pulled his head up. His face was a mess of scratches and bruises—one of his eyes was swollen shut. He shot her a smile.

"I'll tell you again sweetness, I had nothing to do with the departure of your dear Kenji. I'm sorry to end the interrogation on such a disappointing note, but that's the truth," he said sweetly.

" Just like you had nothing to do with the death of Leo and Akima? And the other five?!" a man standing next to the woman demanded.

"…Well, I admit, I did have a little to with that." He said sheepishly.

The man hit him across the jaw with his gun.

"Leo's body was found with little holes all over it. Someone took the same rusty screwdriver, and stuck it in him a hundred times before sticking it in the back of his neck." The man hissed.

Richard was silent for a moment.

"That does sound inhumane. But then again, I have nothing to do with the way they are killed, I only give the signal for them to be killed. If it helps, you can have my word that when I escape, I'll talk to Lolita on her…business ethics," he said sincerely.

The woman kicked his head back with her stiletto-heeled boot. Richard gasped.

"Ow," he whispered. He leaned forward and spit blood.

The woman walked behind him and put a short, rusty looking knife to his neck.

"I'm fully aware that you do not kill any of these people yourself, Richard. However, it is in my opinion that if you want to stop the poison…"

Kim stuck the point of the knife in the side of his neck.

"—You have to kill the snake." She said as she twisted the blade.

Richard sucked in a painful breath. I started to bend down and unzip my bag.

"I'd hate to interrupt Kim," someone from the sofa said, "but we have reservations at Ken Yin, and I don't think we want to show up covered in blood."

I relaxed my hand and stood up.

"No…we don't. Not yet, anyway," Kim said, handing the knife to the second man standing next to her. "We'll continue where we left off in the morning Richard, and I hope for your sake you will be willing to cooperate."

"And Kim, the new help is here," the man from the sofa added.

"Excellent. Let me take a look at her."

Kim circled me. I stood still.

"She looks…fat," Kim said. "And cocky. Are you sure she is the best we could get?"

"Kim, Miss Nicole here has been training for more then ten years. She's the champion of Ultimate Fighting Showdown in New York."

"Pfff. Americans. So cocky," she dismissed.

"And," the man added, "she trained with Ozu for three solid years."

"Ozu?" Kim said, turning around. She walked up to me.

"You there. You trained with Ozu, yes or no?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Desired weapon?"

"I trained with Double Broad Sword, as well as Sai and Samurai Sword," I said.

"And Double Broad is your best?" she asked.

"Yes."

"That will do for now. You will have one chance, and one chance alone to show us your worth. I suggest you don't fuck it up," Kim said.

"One chance is all I need," I said clearly.

"Very well. We will be back in the morning. Don't let him move," Kim snapped her fingers. "Boys, lets ride."

The six other men started to drain out of the room. The one with the knife walked around Richard.

"You were lucky Kim was in a good mood today. No one else in her position would have shown you so much mercy."

Richard was breathing deeply, still trying to recover from Kim's kick.

"Aw, yes, she's just a regular ball of sunshine. Seems like only yesterday I was hitting that." He said.

The man pointed the knife at Richards's eye.

"I would not say such things if I were you," he said acidly.

"I said we're out of here, Osaka. Let the rookie handle it from here." Kim called back.

Osaka smiled. He took the nasty knife, and with a swift movement, plunged it into Richard's thigh.

"Oops," Osaka said as he walked to the door.

I heard it slam. I waited for the footsteps to fade. Then I walked over to the wall, and grabbed a chair. I set it in front of Richard and sat on it backwards.

He wasn't unattractive. If it weren't for the bruises and cuts on his face, he would have been quite good lookin'. His head was hung low; his face contorted in pain. He swallowed it, and looked up at me with a playful smile.

"So, you're the replacement for Kenji." He said slowly.

"That's right."

He looked startled that I responded. He pressed on.

"Ultimate Fighter Showdown, huh? You don't look like that kind of girl," he said.

"You don't look like a murderer. Looks can be deceiving."

He laughed.

"Right. So, you trained with Ozu?"

"I can see you trying to untie the rope behind you. It isn't working." I cut him off.

"…Worth a shot." He shrugged, sucking in a quick breath.

I sighed deeply. I pull the bandanna out of my hair, lean forward, and gently ease the knife out of his thigh. As Richard clenches his teeth, I tie the bandana around his leg to stop the blood.

When I finished, he looked up at me—really looked at me.

"…Thank you," he said sincerely.

I wiped the bloody, rusty knife off on my pants.

"What made you do that?" he asked.

"If exposed to bacteria, a wound will become infected. If not treated after being infected, you gotta cut the rotting flesh off," I said. "Although, having parts of your flesh cut off is probably the least of your worries now."

"Eh, I've been in worse trouble. What did they say your name was? Nicole?"

"It's Nikki," I said, turning the knife in my fingers. Richard laughed.

"Okay Nikki. you can call me Ricky." He said.

I picked my bag up from the floor, and pulled out one of my broad swords. I started sharpening the knife on it.

"Ever heard of the House of Blue Leaves?" I asked.

Ricky paused for a moment.

"Two thousand three." He says. " The Black Mamba takes on GoGo Yubari, the Crazy eighty-eight, and scalps O-ren Ishii, head of the Yakuza and former assassin for the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, all in a vendetta against her co-workers and former boss, Snake Charmer Bill? Yeah, I've heard that old tune."

"You wouldn't know anyone who knew the Snake Charmer, would you?" I asked.

Ricky laughed.

"Sorry baby, but anyone who knew him and talked about it is dead. Me? I'm not into the organization the way he was into it. I have no fancy sword, no squad, and no honor at all. I work for whoever pays the most dough. Sometimes, Yakuza comes in second place. That's why Kim is a little mad at me. She'll get over it. In a year or two, she'll be begging me to do a job for her." he said.

"You're not only an assassin's agent. You're an informer." I said.

"Yes, that's true." he said. "I have connections in the underworld, but I play far from the devil. However, it's been along time since I dug up any graves, and I find it's not worth the trouble."

"How deep in the underworld are you, exactly?" I ask.

"This is getting a little person, Nikki. Perhaps I could discuss this with you once we get to know each other better." he said, winkin' his good eye.

I stood up and dropped my broad sword back into my bag. I took the knife in my left hand. Ricky's eyes widened.

"I…I don't think Kim gave you orders to do anything…" Ricky said.

I walked behind Ricky, and traced the flat of knife against his jawbone. I pressed my lips against his ear.

"It's a good thing I don't work for Kim." I said.

His throat trembles.

"…Who do you work for?" he asks.

I lower the knife and cut the ropes binding his hands. I push him out of the chair, and he falls to the floor. I reach my hand down and smile at him.

"I work for you." I say.

He takes my hand.

_**--KK--**_

**Location: Memory Lane- Tokyo, Japan**

**Date: 2/15/23**

We stand in the elevator, waiting. I yawn and put my hand on my hip.

"Are you sure about this, Nikki?" Ricky says.

"I didn't get all dressed up for nothing." I said.

Ricky eyes my sweat-soaked outfit.

"That was a joke, Ricky," I say.

"Yeah. I know." He says. "How many jobs have you done for me, these past few months?"

I hold up three fingers.

"You know, that's really a lot. Most full-time assassins do less then that." Ricky says.

I tilt my eyebrows. I'm not used to seeing him like this.

"Ricky?" I ask.

"Yeah, baby?" he says.

"What the hell?"

Ricky laughs, but a forced laugh. A nervous laugh.

"You really want dibs on the top of my list, don't you?" he asks.

I shrug.

"If it will get me good connections and good money. Yes. I want it." I say. "And unless I work for you for another year and prove it, then the only way I can be your number one is to fight and beat your current number one."

Ricky nods.

"I'm not waiting a year. I want ins with Yakuza and I want it before the people who might know what I wanna know get killed. I told you when I met you. Whatever it takes." I said.

Ricky sighs.

"Baby. Nikki. Listen. I've worked with a lot of different people. I've been the agent of many different assassins. Truth be told, I've never hit it off with a newbie this good. That is to say…you're smart. You're a good fighter. You have a reason to kill besides for the money, and that's way more then I can say. And, um…in the short time we've known eachother…"

I reached my hand out and rested it on his cheek. He sighed.

"I really would like it if Lolita didn't kill you." He whispered.

"That's sweet." I laugh. "That would make a good greeting card."

"Nothing really fazes you, does it baby?" Ricky asked.

"I thought the same about you." I say. "Was I wrong?"

Ricky smiles and presses the button on the elevator. The door opens.

Lolita sits in the middle of the room, a machete propped up against her chair. She is dressed in some sort of demented little bow peep costume: a very short, very poofy dress covered in bows and lace. Her hair and make-up resembles Marilyn Monroe. As Ricky and I step out of the elevator, she looks up from the TV. She stands up and walks into Ricky, burying her face in his chest.

"Killing isn't the only service you provide anymore?" I guessed.

Lolita pulled herself from Ricky and looked at me with big doe eyes.

"Lolita, this is Nikki. Remember—we talked about Nikki?" Ricky asked her.

Her eyes narrowed and instantly turned poisonous.

"I don't like her, Daddy." Lolita said.

…_Daddy?_

" Please be sweet." Ricky said. "She's very good."

"She's very bad," Lolita replied.

_Jesus H. Christ_.

"You have to be shitting me, Ricky." I said. "This nut-job is your number-one?"

Ricky shot me a worried look.

"Um, Nikki, that may not be a good idea…"

Lolita turned at me and hissed like a snake.

"Richard. Is. MINE." she said. "I'm his number one. ME."

I laughed.

"Funny. Where were you when Ricky was bleeding to death, tied to a chair? Sticking screws in a Yakuza puppet?" I asked.

Lolita covered her ears.

"NO!!" She screamed.

"Lolita, please…be good for me, okay?" Ricky asked. "Nikki has proven to be quite good at martial arts. She studied White Lotus with Ozu. You always wanted to meet Ozu…maybe if you and Nikki could be friends,"—

"No, daddy." Lolita wined. "I don't _want_ to be friends with her. I _want _to cut her into chunks."

Ricky looked at me and gave me a thumbs up.

"Umm, that's actually okay, I guess, because Nikki wanted to fight you, and so if you're okay with,"—

Lolita didn't even wait. She launched herself at me. Her reaction caught me off guard, but she was light. I flipped her over my shoulders.

She landed on her feet and grabbed her machete. She came at me with murder in her eyes, and Ricky stepped to the side.

"…Nikki?" he asked.

"What is it?" I asked as Lolita took a slash at me.

"Um, you want your broadsword or something?" Ricky asked.

"I'm good!" I yelled.

Lolita hacked and slashed away at me, but I dodged her machete with ease. Rage seemed to have blinded her. She stopped for a moment, took a breath, and tried to slice out my legs. I jumped up.

She grabbed my hair, flipped her machete around, and caught me in my side.

I grabbed on to the serrated edges of her machete to hold it back. She slowly inched the blade forward, cutting through cloth, skin, muscle. My fingers ached as blood poured from my hands.

_Don't let go. If you do, she'll slice you in half._

"Lolita, stop it." Ricky said. "That's enough."

Lolita ignored him. She began to saw at my side. Muscles tangled in the filed teeth of the blade. Blood flows.

"Drip, drip, drip…" she whispered. "Oops. Too late. You're dead."

I looked up at her through my mess of hair.

"Stupid little girl…" I whispered.

I let my fingers fly to the handle of the machete. Before she could react, I moved forward and spun out of the blade.

Time to show Ricky what I'm made of.

"You're gonna have to do better then that…" I said.

Lolita huffed. She slashed out at my neck. I dodge it.

"Ghosts aren't aloud to talk…" she said, stabbing forward. I duck under it.

"What's up with the machete, anyway?" I ask.

Lolita tries to cut my feet out from under me. I lift my legs and stomp down on the blade. The machete is caught in the floor, and even though I sliced a horizontal line in both my sneakers and my feet are bleeding, all I can do is laugh.

"Machetes are made to hack away at the jungle, not for martial arts. Why not just get Jason Voorhees to replace you? He'd do a cleaner job, and for free." I say.

Lolita yanks the machete out of the ground and runs at me, spinning her weapon. I duck down from a slice. As she lowers her aim, I smile to myself. I jump up and take her by surprise. She slices blindly in a circle, but I've jumped out of her range. I come down, and Lolita gets a face full of my bloody sneaker. I jump again, and this time I land in back of her. As she falls to her knees, I yank the handle out of her hands and throw her machete across the floor.

"That was without a counter-weapon. Want to see how I do with a weapon?" I called over to Ricky.

"Um…with your broadswords?" Ricky asks.

I smile at him.

Wait for it…

Lolita—bloody nosed and teary eyed—looks up and me. I shoot her a smug look. She screams, flips over, and grabs her machete. She runs at me.

I step to the side and sucker punch her. As she gasps, I spin around, disarm her, and bring the blade to her neck. I stick the tip of the serrated edge to her skin. An instant drop of blood. A whimper. I look to Ricky.

"Am I your number one yet?" I ask. "Or do I need to deliver her head on the blade?"

Ricky stares with wide eyes and an open mouth. He shakes his head no.

I shove Lolita to the ground. As I limp away, Lolita mumbles obscenity to herself. This time, _I _walk into Ricky. Or fall into him.

"Lets go get you patched up." He whispers.

I glance back at Lolita. She's laughing.

" She's bad, daddy. She's gonna mess up real bad. You're gonna regret picking her over me…" she giggles.

"Really?" I ask.

I drop Lolita's machete and I spin Ricky around. I wrap my arms around him and I kiss him. He hesitates for a moment before giving in. He pulls himself into me. I moan as his arm skims the rim of my side wound, but I don't let go.

We finally break apart, but Ricky doesn't move away. He breathes heavy, and reaches his hand to his lips. He doesn't even see how much of my blood is covering his fingers. He shakes his head at me and reaches out to kiss me again.

"Let's get out of here." I whisper.

He nods wordlessly. As we leave, I turn and glance at Lolita. Eyeliner is running down her cheeks. She sobs, more defeated now then when I held her demented weapon to her neck. I smile.

Ricky helps me to the elevator, hands planted firmly at my side to slow my bleeding. As the door closes behind us, I feel his warm breath on my neck. He finally speaks.

"When you said you were out for revenge…you really weren't kidding." He said.

"Will that be a problem?" I ask.

I look up at him. He smiles and reaches out his hand to wipe the blood off my face.

"Not as long as I know you." He says simply.

* * *

Ah. The unsuppressed romance between two murdering sadists. I'm not saying it's the purest love in the world, but it's probably the bloodiest. Well, that was a fun chapter to write, and I'm glad I was finally able to put Lolita in the fic. So everyone, tell me what ya think, questions comments, criticism, anything. Thanks for reading!

If there are any mistakes, I'll correct them shortly.


	13. Nostalgia

Authors Note: Hello readers! Welcome back to the fanfic. I've been pretty busy, but now that the pressure is back on, I shift back to the fanfic to get my ya-ya's out. Key parts of Nikki's past will be coming into play, so if there is any confusion, you can refer back to Chapters 4 (4 especially), 8, and 12. Here we go!

Disclaimer- I do not own Kill Bill.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 13**

**Location: USA, Maine**

**Date: 10/01/24**

"The four of us are piled at the bank of the river with our hands tied, each one with a gun to our head," Montoya said. "And one of my cousins is still trying to fight the guy behind him. And he's swearing and cursing, and finally, the guy smacks him over the head with his gun. But my cousin just slips and falls into the river. The four guys shove us all out of the way and start shooting up the water until it goes red,"—

"I thought you all made it out alive." I said.

"They shot off a few of his fingers, but now he's under the water and they can't see if he's alive or dead through the murk. But then, _then_ I notice none of the guys are near the car, and the door is wide open. So I pull myself up, and I lean into the car and release the brake…"

"…And?" I ask.

"The car rolls right over two of the guys and dead into the river. And at this point, all the suitcases of money and the duffel bag of coke and Carlos are still in the trunk."

"Cartel wanted to send someone back to Acuna?" I asked.

"No idea." Montoya laughed. "But the two guys who weren't pushed into the water are down on their knees and my other cousin and my half brother have them both pinned. And my cousin comes out of the water with his bloody hands and he's just screaming, and he grabs a gun to shoot the guys up, but he's barely got enough fingers left to hold the gun, and so he's just firing out of control."

Montoya paused and pulled back his hair to show a white scar next to his eyebrow.

"Bullet skimmed me there. So after he finally shoots the men he unties us. And we're walking up the hill and yelling at him and suddenly, we here someone call to us and we look back and there's Carlos with one of the suitcases climbing out of the river and he's just '_you little fucks were going to leave me_!!'" Montoya said.

"Which bag did he get?" I ask. "The one with the money or the one with the coke?"

Montoya grins.

"Which one do you think?" he asks.

I laugh, probably a little too loud. The woman sitting in front of us finally picks up her bag and walks out of the food court. Montoya looks at me.

"You think she heard me?" He asks.

I open my mouth to answer, but a phone cuts me off. Montoya jumps and pulls a razor out of his pocket.

"Where did you get that?" I ask.

"The hotel room." He said, handing me the phone. "You have a text message."

I take the phone from his fingers and open the text. Just three bold words, all in caps.

**SOFIE IS DEAD.**

_**--KK--**_

"Who killed Sofie?" I ask.

"Someone who knew she wasn't Mercedes Ayuma, I only assume." Ricky answers. "Lucky for you, she was able to get word out to the cops to change your description before she got made into a bag of meat."

"Right." I whisper. "Lucky. So what have you got for me Ricky? Anything good?"

"Um…well…"

"It's been three days Ricky. You're killing me." I moan into the cell.

"Baby, please." Ricky whined. "At least with Sofie, I had some witnesses. Right now, all I've got to work with is a twenty-year-old photo of a barbecued corpse. The FBI is to close too my ass for me to touch anything else."

"_Soooo_," I yawned. "If you had to guess how long it would take you to confirm –with complete absolution—Mountain Snake's death?"

"…If I HAD to?"

"If someone had a gun in your mouth." I said flatly.

Ricky was silent.

" I would say…um…around a week. Maybe two." Ricky mumbled. "Worst case scenario, twenty days."

I grit my teeth loudly into the phone.

"Oh, c'mon Baby!" Ricky laughed. "Don't shoot me!"

"What the fuck am I supposed to do for twenty days?" I demanded.

"Well what have you been doing?"

"I've taken the train all over Canada during the day and checking into Hotels at night." I said.

"…Did you go to that big waterfall?" Ricky asked.

"Ricky…" I growled.

"Nikki, just relax. A'right? I'm doing as much as I can." Ricky whispered. "Why don't you find a place you can lay low at for a while? Maybe somewhere you won't be so high strung? Because you're taking your frustration out on me, and it's abusive."

I glare down at my feet. I'm still uncomfortable being in the States…but now that A Jay is dead…I'm really free to go wherever I want.

…_Wherever I want._

"I'll be in New York when you get your shit together, Okay?" I say.

"New York? Love it. See you when I see you baby. Oh, and Lolita says hi." Ricky said.

"Tell her to get bent." I say as I hang up the phone.

_**--KK--**_

Montoya and I sit on the train in silence. I'm picking the dirt out of my fingernails, and he's tuning his guitar. I clear my throat, and he finally looks up.

"So what about you?" he asks.

"What about me?" I sigh.

"This…what you are doing? I understand it is to avenge your mother's death. But…what about your father? Did he…"

I look Montoya in the eye. He looks nervous…almost afraid. He back sassed me a few days ago when I was just waking up, and I left a pretty nasty handprint around his neck, fingernail markings clearly visible.

"I haven't talked to him in almost eight years, and I don't like talking about him." I say.

"…You didn't like him?" Montoya pressed on.

"I didn't know him well enough not to like him."

Montoya nodded.

"I wish I had known my father." He said. "Did you have any other family?"

"Nope." I say quickly.

"Any friends?" he asked.

"A couple."

_Is that even true_? Asakakwa had gotten a studio in Osaka last I heard. I remember Ricky telling me Minoru was in the hospital, but I was too busy at the time to visit him. I don't even know if he's dead or not.

The train stops.

"We lost touch." I said.

I tap Montoya. He closes the guitar case and we walk off the train.

_**--KK--**_

**Location: Memory lane- New York**

**Date:**** 12/01/22**

I breathe and look up through the bars, the chainlink, the logo-ridden floor across to my opponent. He's got the face of an angel. A heartthrob. The lead singer in a band. At least he did in the pictures I got when I googled him. Whoever he used to be is now lost under the mass of muscle and fake tanning. He glances up, and sees me eyeing him out. He kisses and winks at me.

I flip him off as the announcer's voice booms over the speakers.

"WHO'S READY FOR ULTIMATE FIGHTER SHOWDOWN?!"

The lights flicker, the ring lights up. The audience screams.

The announcer continues.

"IN THE RIGHT CORNER, WE HAVE LONG TIME CHAMPION A JAY!!"

A Jay struts into the ring, hands in the air. I can't help but laugh. A Jay. Ace Jayson. I read all about him. Trust fund baby. His dad, Frank Jensen was a politician. It came out in the news a few years ago his dad was lightly involved in the mob, and ever since A Jay's been playing the bad boy card.

Wanna-Be gangster. Dirty fuck sent his manager over to my changing room with thirty hundred telling me not to fight. Slammed the door in his face. Sent two of his 'bodyguards' over then with forty hundred, telling me it would be in my best interest to drop out the last minute. So I took the suitcase. And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The announcer continues.

"AND, IN THE LEFT CORNER, WE HAVE NICOLE GREY!!"

The look on A Jay's face is priceless. Hysterical. The audience goes wild as I walk, smoothly, silently, into the ring. A Jay stands there, shaking his head in anger. The ref leads us to the middle, and we shake on it.

"You stupid bitch." Ace mumbles as we shake.

I spit.

"The rules are they're no rules." The ref says. " This is the final game of the season. A Jay wins, he keeps his title. Nicole wins, she the new Ultimate fighter Champion. Understand?"

We both nod. The ref signals over to the announcer.

"FIGHTERS…FIGHT!!"

I move to my desired position, outside of the O of the Showdown logo on the floor. I turn, thinking A Jay is gonna be on me, but he's standing there. From far away, it could look like he's in a fighting position, but his postures off, and his fists ain't clenched. He shakes off his face and sneers.

"So what are you waiting for?" he asks. "Throw."

"To throw, you gotta take a shot at me." I said.

"I don't hit girls." He laughed.

"Then it's not a throw, it's a forfeit." I said.

We circle each other.

"You got the money, didn't you?" he asked.

"You'll get it back after the fight." I said.

"Look, I don't want to have to get you hurt, but you don't throw the fight now…later you're gonna find yourself in a lot of trouble." He whispered.

"I thought you don't hit girls." I said.

"Not in front of the camera." He said.

I step out of the fighting position for a moment. Did he just threaten me??

_How cute._

I move forward—fast—and jump clean over his head. I don't even bother to stomp on his face like I normally would. I want this fuck to suffer. I move out a fist and make like I'm gonna punch him in the face. As he pulls his hands up for the block, I jerk my hand down, and jab him in the muscle of his leg. I wait for him to clench, then I push down hard and twist.

A Jay sucks in a breath of air and sinks down to his knees, clutching his paralyzed leg in pain. He looks up in time to see my fist twisting into his face.

CRACK.

Blood and bits of teeth fly. Ace's nose has caved in. his eyes roll back, and he hits the ground.

People scream my name as I shake off the blood.

_**--KK--**_

I hold Pete's hand as we walk up the flight of stairs. I'm dragging him, pulling him. Finally, I reach the door for the roof. I push it open, and we walk out into the night.

"Did you see how many people wanted to sponsor me?" I ask.

"Yes," Pete smiled. "I did. I'm happy for you."

"I'm glad." I say. "Thanks for coming to the party with me. I know…you don't really like me doing all this stuff, so…it means a lot that you came."

I look up at the sky and inhale the cool air. Pete wraps his arms around me. I turn around and put my hands on his face. I kiss him.

Pete kisses me back, and moves his mouth to my ear.

"You've been drinking." He whispers.

"It's my party." I laugh.

"Lets get you back downstairs. People are going to wonder where the woman of the hour slipped off to."

I look up at him.

"To hell with them. Let's me and you stay out here." I say.

"Nikkia…"

"C'mon, Pete…" I said giddily. "Lets fight."

I put my fists up.

Pete chokes back a laugh.

"You are so drunk." He mumbles.

"No, seriously. Remember when we lived with each other, we used to fight on the roof all the time? C'mon. Lets fight. Just like old times."

Pete sighed.

"I remember." He whispered sadly.

I pushed his chin up.

"Want the first punch?" I asked.

"I am _not_ going to fight you." Pete said. "You're going to get your dress all dirty."

" Afraid I'll kick your ass like I did with A Jay a few hours ago?" I teased.

Pete tensed up.

"Nikkia…I've been meaning to talk to you about him." Pete said.

I rolled my eyes and undo the silk buttons on the left slit of my Japanese dress.

"Did he threaten you before the fight?" I ask.

"One of his friends did."

"Fuck them. Thy don't know who they're messing with." I said, slipping out of my shoes.

"Nikkia, I don't,"—

"I know. You don't like this," I say. "Pete, it's sweet you're worried about me, but I'm a big girl, and I'm more capable than you think."

"You're a great fighter, Nikki. The best I've ever known." Pete said. "But I'm afraid for you, is all. You overestimate yourself once in this kind of game, you could end up killing yourself."

"I know what I'm capable of." I say.

I turn to Pete.

"Want to see?" I ask.

I run across the rooftop. I brace myself as I reach the ledge and I jump.

I feel the wind licking my face, my hair blown being blown back, my body pushing itself to its fullest extent. I open my mouth and breathe in the night.

_I would kill for this high. _

I barely skim the concrete of the next building over. I don't have to think—my body reacts. My hands reach out to grab the ledge, and my legs reach forward to kick off. I flip myself over onto the ledge. I laugh and glance over at Pete.

I see the look on his face and my smile fades.

"NIKKIA!! What the fuck—what did you…are you…JESUS CHRIST!!"

I stand up.

"NIKKIA, DON'T MOVE." Pete yelled. "STAY THERE."

I try to yell over to him, but he's already disappeared. So I sit and wait. I look down at the cars and lights, and up to the starless night sky. A single drop of rain falls.

It takes about fifteen minutes before the door of the rooftop slams and I hear Pete running across, yelling my name. I call out to him, and he runs over. He leans down and pulls me out from over the edge.

"The ledge was six feet from the roof." I mumble. "I could have climbed up myself."

Pete grabs me and hugs me. He then pushes me forward and grasps my shoulders.

"Who the fuck do you think you are??" he yells.

"I made it, didn't I?" I ask.

"TWENTY STORIES!?" He demands, on the verge of tears. "ARE YOU INSAINE!? I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!!"

I try to push his arms off me. He holds tight.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!?" He screams.

I yank my arm away from him and punch him across the face. I hit him harder than I meant to, and I instantly regret it. He's on the ground, coughing out blood.

"Don't yell at me." I say weakly.

"I can't live like this." Pete says softly.

"What?" I ask.

"I can't do this anymore." He repeats, pulling himself off the ground. "I understood when you wanted to leave LA. When you went to Japan. Even when you didn't want to marry me."

He spits blood.

"I don't understand this. What are you trying to prove, and to who?" He asked.

I open my mouth. Nothing. No sound, no anything. Pete reaches out for me.

"I can't stand silently by you while you destroy yourself." Pete said. "It's killing me."

I look him square in the eye. His eyes widen. He knows.

"I'm sorry…I'm…I didn't mean to say that. I'm so sorry." Pete whispered.

"Sure you are." I say.

He pulls my face up to his.

"Please stop." He says. "_Please_. I don't want to see you hurt, Nikkia."

"Don't call me Nikkia." I say.

His hand drops. I walk over to the ledge and lean against it.

"I love you." Pete says from behind me.

"Fuck off." I reply.

I stand there, looking away from him. He stays there forever. I count an hour on my watch. Finally, he heaves a sigh and walks to the doorway.

_Let him leave_. Without him, I don't have a reason to stay here any more. Without him, I can finally move forward. I'll leave for Japan tomorrow. Hell, I'll leave tonight if I can. If I'm lucky, I can get ahold of Minoru and he can give me the name of the agent he knows the second I get off the plane. My vendetta, my revenge, my life can finally begin.

Tears roll down my face, the rain finally gives way and falls. And I look down at the world alone.

* * *

Finally, a new chapter! This is one I've been trying to write for a long time, and was nearly impossible to format. I wasn't planning on including that flashback in the fanfic, so I hope you enjoyed it (quite a contrast between Pete and Ricky, eh?)

Parts of the next chapter have been written, so it could be up fairly soon. As always, I am correcting mistakes. Any suggestions, comments, I welcome it all. Thanks for reading.

Write on!


	14. Call Me Compassionate

Authors Note- Okay everyone, here's a new chapter, and with it, the reason why I have not posted in a while: I know what I want to do with this story, but in order for me to do it, I need to have this chapter. And it's dry action wise. Very rich in story and history, but little action. I am very against posting Kill Bill chapters with little action, partially because they get a lukewarm response (as with my past chapter.). But since some people have been kind enough to stick with this story, I decided to go for it. Parts of the **next** chapter are written, and if I get everything I want in it, it **WILL** be the most pivotal chapter thus far (in my opinion). When it will be updated will be determined by this chapter's response.

You may want to refresh on the last chapter as well as chapter 4.

Disclaimer: I do not own the name Nikkia Bell or her quest to avenge her mothers death. I do own the name Baby Cobra/ Nicole Grey, and I've become quite attached to her character. I'll probably be working her into one of my own stories, along with Ricky and the gang. All rights reserved on that.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 14**

**Location: USA, New York**

**Date: 10/02/24**

"Wait!" Montoya yells as I walk out of the bank.

"Learn to move faster." I say, going through the bag from my old security deposit box.

I don't bother to look back and see how many wallets he's stuffing into his guitar case. Sure, he's good. Real good. He must have snatched over a dozen wallets and purses since we came to the States. I haven't said anything to him, because I never exactly see him make the grab. Second I catch him though, I'm tearing him a new one.

"What's in the box?" he asks as he finally catches up with me.

"The keys to my apartment." I said.

"You have an apartment? Here?"

Without looking up, I point in it's general direction.

"I…thought you lived in Japan?" Montoya asked.

"I did." I say. "I bought it when I was in Japan."

"Aren't apartments are rented?"

"That's why I bought the building." I say.

"You bought a building?!" he asks. "Why?"

After fishing through the paper bag full of money and jewelry, I finally pull out the keys.

"I used to live there. When I first went to Japan, I went in a hurry. Didn't tell anyone, didn't return my key to the super, didn't even get all my old stuff out…"

I pause next to a homeless man and drop the bag down next to him.

"When I realized my lease was running out, I bought the building on impulse." I continued. "I had some stuff in my apartment that I liked, but never got the chance to bring with me."

"Waste of money." Montoya asks. "What's the building now?"

"Still apartments. I was letting a friend of mine manage the building, just as long as she didn't let anyone move into my old place…"

We're almost there now. We cross the street.

"Does she know you're an,"—

"Her? Yeah, she knew. Her and her brother were the ones that helped me find my trainer. Her brother helped me find Ricky."

We pause at the entrance. Montoya whistles as I unlock the door.

"Looks fancy." He says, going through a bag of money. "Which floor do you live on?"

"Top floor. Number fourteen. " I said. " Is that the bag I gave to the homeless man?"

"Yes." He says. "Which floor does your friend live on?"

"We lost touch. I think she moved back to Japan for good."

We silently walk into the elevator and ride up the fourteen stories. When we get out, I navigate through the hall. I count the numbers on the doors until we come to mine. I stick my key in the door and twist.

I turn the handle. Nothing happens. I put the key back in. Nothing happens.

"Wrong apartment?" Montoya asks.

"No, this is the one." I say.

"So how long will we stay here?" Montoya asks.

"Until Ricky calls." I say. I twist again. Nothing.

"I think it's the wrong one." Montoya says, knocking on the door.

"I lived here, I would know what,"—

The door opens. Montoya shoots me a cocky look.

"See? Wrong apartment."

I can't hear him. I can't move. All I can do is stare at the man behind the door.

"…_Nikkia_?" he asks.

Pete Marsters.

_Shit._

"Pete." I whisper.

Montoya has shut up now. He staring at me, and I don't blame him.

"Um…Pete…what are you doing here?" I stutter.

"I…I live here now." He says, dazed. " I had…cosigned the lease, remember? We weren't living together at the time, but…my name was still on it and when you left I decided to move back in…I've been living here for two years. Asakawa owns the building now…she didn't mention it to you?"

_Damn you Asakawa, you fucking bitch. You set me up for this._

We stand, still and silent.

"Um, sorry for bothering you." I say, grabbing Montoya and turning around. "I can…I can go find a hotel somewhere…"

Pete's on the outside of the door, trying to look me in the eyes. I stick out my hand.

"Nice seeing you, though,"—

He doesn't let me finish. He grabs me and pulls me into his arms.

"You came back." He whispers.

"Pete, I didn't…" I trail off as I give in and look into his eyes.

_Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing? Don't bring him into this. Don't put him in the middle of this…_

"Yes." Pete says. "You did."

My arms have a mind of their own. They find their way around him, and I fight every urge I have in my body to stop from kissing him.

"Pete...." I whisper.

Pete lets go instantly.

"I'm sorry!" he says. " I haven't…seen you in so long, what are you doing here? Who's your friend?"

I turn to Montoya, who's grinning like a fucking pervert.

"I've…got a lot of time off of work, I guess I came back on a whim." I say. "Look, I really didn't know you'd be here."

"Oh, Nikki, please. Stay. How long are you gonna be in town? You and your friend can come in." He says, picking up my bag.

I gesture for Montoya to stand his ground, but he's already inside, the little fuck. I follow.

"Look, we really shouldn't stay here." I say. "We'd be much better in a hotel…"

"Can I use your bathroom?" Montoya asks Pete.

Pete smiles and points to the bathroom. The second Montoya is out of the room—Pete is next to me.

"Is he your new boyfriend?" Pete asks.

"No." I moan. "God, no."

"So who is he?"

"I'm her student!" Montoya calls.

"Student?" Pete asks.

"Um…yeah, I'm training him in Goju-Ryu. Apprentice pairing up program thing…" I sigh. "He doesn't know anyone in Tokyo, so he kinda…tagged along when I came to the US."

_Why am I nervous? I've lived my lie for years, and I've never had any problem with it. Pull it together, Bell._

"That's great." Pete said. "Really…I'm …"

"Look, him and me should probably get out of here." I say.

Pete's not listening. He's just staring at me. He snaps his fingers.

"Come with me."

He grabs my hand and takes me through the giant living room. Swords and artwork cover the walls, but I'm not paying attention to them.

Pete. He looks pretty much the same. Dark tan, sloppy sun bleached hair, beautiful blue-green eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass. He's got more lines on his forehead. He leads me into what was once the guest bedroom, and pulls me up to a glass case.

"What is it?" I ask.

He looks at me sheepishly before stepping out of the way.

_My broadswords. My old ones. The ones Ozu gave me._

The glass case is already open, and the swords are in my hands. Lord alive, I forgot how these felt. Simply holding them is bliss. I look up at Pete, and he's got a grin on his face that would make any atheist besides me believe in God.

_I sold these. No, I didn't. I…I gave them to Asakawa and told her to get rid of them for me. Before I started working, Ricky had gone out and gotten me some modern ones that were more lightweight, and even those I eventually abandoned the day The Samurai gave me my Sai Swords._

"Pete, how did you get these?" I asked.

"I got them after you went back to Japan." He said, walking gingerly up beside me. "I was checking out the things Asakawa had on Ebay and I recognized them. I…you know."

"How much?"

"I'd rather not say…" Pete mumbled, which probably meant too much. "I didn't want her to know it was me who bought them, but I knew how special they were to you...I hope you don't think I'm some sort of creepy, stalky person. "

"I don't." I whisper.

I turn and look at him and I've got a million thoughts racing through my mind and I don't know if I should stay or leave and all I can think about is how Ricky said it could take him twenty days to find a lead that may not even be there. And Pete reaches his hand out to brush back my hair and my mind lingers to how I've cut all my ties with the Yakuza and how Ricky took me off the official pay role and how A Jay is dead and I can stay in North America again and how easy it would be just to reach my hand over and touch Pete's familiar face and how every thought going through me right now is betraying everything I've worked for and how little I care.

"At loss for words?" Pete guesses.

_Oh, how I wish._

_**---KK---**_

I step out of the shower, slip on a towel, and head out into the living room. Montoya is sitting on the couch watching TV. Pete left out a pair of sweats and one of his Nike shirts. As I change, Montoya looks over at me.

"So, are we going to stay here?" he asks.

"Eyes on the TV." I snap. " I don't know. Maybe. Where is Pete?"

"He went out for some air. If we stay, I could just sleep out here on the couch."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." I say.

"Does he know?" Montoya suddenly asked.

"He knows that my mom was murdered in front of me, and he knows that I think Black Mamba did it. Don't know if he believes it. He knows that all the martial arts I did was part of my childhood fantasy of tracking down Black Mamba. He doesn't know that I became an assassin." I say.

I finish getting dressed and dry my hair on the towel.

"And I will kill you if you tell him." I say to Montoya.

"…Wouldn't that prove it if I tell him and you did that?" Montoya asks.

I grab him by the shoulder.

"Don't hurt me!" he pleads.

"Get out." I say.

"What? Where do I go?" he cries.

"I don't care." I say as I push him out the door and shut it behind us. "Go see a movie with all the money you stole."

As he runs down the hall, I turn down the opposite end and walk up the staircase to the roof. Pete's sitting on a bench by the ledge. As I walk to him, he stands up.

"Where did your friend go?" he asks.

"He wanted to see Shadow Town." I say.

Pete's around the bench and is walking towards me.

"Look, Pete, this is happening kinda fast." I said.

"I thought you liked fast."

"It's been years, Pete. I don't know if…"

"Look," he said, holding up his hand. "I remember what I said before you left, and every day you were gone I've regretted it. I'd always been there beside you, and I didn't know what to do with myself when you didn't need me anymore. I am by no means asking for things to go back to the way they were. Hell, I'm not even asking for us to try again."

I step forward.

"So what do you want?" I ask.

Pete shuffles uncomfortably. He looks out across the city.

"I'm asking…for old times sakes…"

He pauses and looks back at me. I realize now the stance he's taken.

"Fight me," he says.

My fist flies forward and he dodges it. He moves to sweep kick me, and I jump.

"You've still got it." He laughs.

I'm behind him. I reach forward for the headlock, but he ducks out of it easily. He's facing me now, and he takes a swing. I'm under him, through his legs, behind him now.

"Jesus, Nikki."

I punch, kick, and swing, making sure I'm going slow enough for him to dodge. He's still amazed.

"This is the Nikki I know," he says. "You've gotten quicker."

"Didn't think I could get any better, do you?" I ask.

He reaches forward and grabs my fist. I could have easily shaken him off, grabbed his arm, and brought him to the ground. But I don't want to. I let him twist me around and bring me to my knees.

"Always room for improvement." Pete laughs.

He preaches to annoy me, and it works. I spin around on the floor and kick out his legs. He falls on his back, and I pin him down.

"Doesn't get better then me." I say.

He reaches out a hand and touches my face, but I dig my knee into his hip. He moans.

"Alright." he gasps. "You win."

"Whose King of the Rooftops?" I demand.

"You are." he gushes.

I knee him harder.

"Who's it? I can't hear you!" I yell.

"You are!" Pete cries. "You're king of the roof! Oh, Jesus, Nikkia, please! Mercy!!"

I ease up and start to get off of him, but he moves his hands against my back.

"I didn't say you had to get off." Pete says gently.

"Don't try to be cute." I say.

He pulls me forward.

"Are you going to make me?" he whispers playfully.

His hands are still there. He's still here. After so long, he's still here.

_What the fuck am I doing?_

I roll off of Pete, but he doesn't get the message. He sits up and lowers his head to mine.

"We shouldn't be doing this." I said.

"We should." Pete says.

"I'm serious." I say.

"So am I."

He's wrapping his arms around me. I'm trying to make myself go numb, but I can't. I've never once seen a world where revenge wasn't my purpose to live, but Pete was always the one thing that made me remember a world before my mother died.

A world where I was almost genuinely happy.

_Don't drag him into the middle of this. You have a life now, and it's on a dark road. Don't drag him down it with you._

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Pete." I say.

Pete puts his mouth against my neck, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

" I don't care," he says simply.

_Well, I can't say I didn't warn him._

I take his head in my hands and kiss him.

_**---KK---**_

**"She's back in the United States again?"**

**Akira shifted his weight against the bar stool. He had been careful to pick an area of the bar that was empty, but he still glanced up warily towards the door.**

**"Affirmative." He said into the cell phone. "Her and her accomplice from Acuna are staying with a civilian in Manhattan. She's awaiting information from Richard Flanagan..."**

**Akira would have continued, but at that moment, the door opened. Sadako walked in from outside, her sword slung over her shoulder. A man stood up and began to walk to her, but she pushed past him and sat down a few seats away from Akira.**

**She was angry.**

**"Akira?" The woman on the phone asked.**

**"Standing by." Akira answered.**

**"I know you still want to go after Richard, but as of now, that is not in our best interests." The woman said. "I also know you didn't call me just to tell me she's with a civilian. What's on your mind?"**

**Akira glanced over at Sadako. He had told her to wait in the car so she couldn't listen in on the call, but she clearly wasn't going to have that. The man who had approached her earlier was coming back. Akira had his hand on his sword, ready to intervene if necessary.**

**"Sadako has convinced me that someone is following Baby Cobra." Akira said.**

**Sadako glanced up as she heard Akira say her name. As she did, the man sat down next to her and smiled.**

**"Can I get you a drink, sweetheart?" he asked.**

**Sadako ignored him, And Akira decided to do the same.**

**"Do you know who it is?" the woman asked.**

**"I have not seen him. Sadako believes it is several people, non-related to the police force or FBI." Akira continued. "She wants your permission to intervene."**

**"How about a long island ice tea?" The man asked Sadako.**

**"You say _she_." The woman observed. "Are you saying you feel differently?"**

**"While I believe that there are several people following her, I am convinced they are all working for the same person. If we kill them, they will be replaced. The only difference will be is that whoever is following Baby Cobra will know someone else is following her as well." Akira said slowly.**

**Sadako narrowed her eyes while the man next to her carried on obliviously.**

**"A point well made. Intervention will only be needed if it is absolutely necessary. At this point, tell Sadako her request is denied."**

**Akira glanced over at Sadako and shook his head solemnly. He could practically feel the venom in her eyes. Every muscle in her body tensed at once, and her anger boiled. The man next to her put his arm around the small of her back.**

**"Wanna get outa here?" He asked.**

**Akira had his head turned, so he didn't see Sadako's hand wrap around her sword. Then again, she did it very quickly, so it may not have made a difference. He did hear the man scream and see a torrent of blood bubble up out of the corner of his eye.**

**"Is that the sound of Sadako becoming bitter of ill-received news?" the woman asked.**

**Akira glanced back over to see Sadako slice a new fissure into the man's back. The people in the bar were screaming and most had already fled. Blood rained down across Sadako's pale face, and she continued to hack away.**

**"I believe she is upset that I did not take her side." Akira said.**

**"Buy her some flowers or something." The woman suggested. " In the mean time, make sure to keep your eye on this civilian. Anything unusual about him?"**

**"He has no involvement in anything illegal, and seems unaware that Baby Cobra is an assassin."**

**"Harmless." The woman muttered. "Make sure he doesn't find out too much. Now, about Richard Flanagan…what is he looking for now?"**

**"He is investigating the death of California Mountain Snake." Akira said. "Sadako and I believe her investigation is coming to a dead end."**

**"Nonetheless," the woman said. "She's unearthing a substantial amount by herself. Let her keep going. Do not intervene with her mission. Do not let her see you. That will be all."**

**Akira hung up the phone and stood up. The bar was empty, and Sadako was standing before a pile of blood and twitching limbs. She closed her eyes, breathed in the dank air, and wiped the blood from her sword.**

**"That was uncalled for." Akira said, addressing Sadako in a voice he rarely used.**

**Sadako looked back at him coldly, and to Akira's surprise, he couldn't return her stare. She triumphantly sheathed her sword, and walked out of the bar. Akira followed her, knowing all the while that there was something inside his partner that couldn't be tamed or satisfied. That while they were both bound to follow their boss's orders, she was starting to get restless. She had begun to take matters into her own hands instead of following Akira's lead.**

**"Sadako." He called.**

**She stopped, and Akira reached into the pocket on the inside of his jacket. He pulled out the white lily he had been saving and handed it to her. Sadako's eyes softened and she reached out and took it.**

**Akira knew that it would only be a matter of time before the violent wrath inside Sadako finally found its way out. He knew that when that happened, nothing would subside her.**

**Until then, all he could do was gently calm her rage, and keep her focused on what needed to be done.**

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This chapter was easier to get done then I expected. There may be a few mistakes, but if I don't upload it now, I'll never get it out. I am still VERY busy with school, work, family stuff, the works, and the reason I stopped writing was simply because I didn't want to waste time and write a story for an audience of no one. This is still my fanfiction baby, and one I will see all the way through. May take me a long time though.

In the meantime, I am in need of critiquing, questions, responses, anything so I can improve my writing style. If you've noticed, I respond to reviews by submitting my answer in form of a review. Thanks everyone for reading!

Write on!


	15. Final Cut

Authors Note: Hey everybody. Welcome to chapter 15 (getting kinda long, huh?) This is a chapter I have planned since the beginning, and A LOT of stuff in this was written WAY back when. This is an especially long and pivotal chapter, so I hope you all enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Kill Bill Universe. I do own all characters not mentioned in the movie.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 15**

**Location: USA, New York**

**Date: 10/10/24**

"_You've come so far from innocence, provided all the consequence, only what does it matter now?" – _Coheed and Cambria: The Running Free

Pete breathed deeply and buried his face in my neck. I wrapped my arms around him.

"Have I told how blissful it's been since you came back?" he said.

I propped my head up on the pillow and looked him in the eyes.

"Tell me again," I said.

He smiled and curled his fingers in my hair.

"Immense. Immeasurable. Incalculable. I'm dreaming. I've died and went to heaven."

"It's good to be loved." I said, closing my eyes.

"I've been worried sick about you these past two years. I thought something terrible happened to you," he whispered.

"You know I can take care of myself." I said.

"I know. I've… been meaning to ask you for a while now…." Pete trailed off as he let his hand linger under the sheets to the base of my bullet wound from London.

"Where did this…?"

"Pete." I said.

"It's just a question," he said defensively.

"It's okay. Sometimes things go wrong during demonstrations. A sword slips every now and then," I explained.

"Every two weeks?" he says, tracing the scar I got in Acuna.

"I've always been a quick healer."

Pete sighed.

"Hollywood's never going to want you back in this condition." He said.

"Sure they will. I can be corpse of girl who fell into a wood-chipper." I offered.

Pete laughed and kissed my neck.

"How long before you go back to Japan?"

"I don't think I'm going back." I said truthfully.

Pete's eyes widened.

"You mean…" he trails off.

For a moment, my eyes linger past him and to his alarm clock, illuminating the time and date. _Nine days_. Nine days I've put vengeance on hold waiting for a sign. By now, Ricky should have come up with _something_. With Ricky, twenty days almost certainly means within a week or there ain't nothing there.

_…What if this is it?_

If it turns out that Mountain Snake was killed, and I've come to a dead end, and I don't have anywhere else to turn…Then what? I think of all the people I've killed, bloody and painful, guilty and innocent. I think of how numb I've always felt when confronted with my indifference for human life. I think of exactly how fucked up a person I am, and how I've been building up this tension for so long, waiting for the day where I killed the cause and source of all my pain and suffering. If I can't go on, was it all a waste? My mother's death, my vendetta, the lives I've ended, the life I've wasted in me? _When will it be enough?_

As I look at Pete, I wonder why something so pure as wishing for a life free of blood feels so dirty.

"Nikki?"

The door slams open and Montoya walks in. Pete jumps up and curses as I yank the blanket over me.

"Um, Nikki?" he asks.

"What the hell?" I demand.

Montoya quickly adverted his stare.

" I was, um, trying to, stop him but he," –

Montoya is pushed out of the way, and Ricky struts in through the door. He looks at me, over to Pete, and after a moments pause, a smile breaks across his face.

"_Daaaamn_." He says. He walks out of the room.

_Mother-Fucker. _

Pete's already out of bed and into his pants. I swing up and yank on yesterday's jeans and shirt. I pause at the dresser, wondering if I should grab my sia swords. I linger for too long, and he's already out of the room. I yank my sai's out of the drawer and follow after him, Montoya close behind me.

"How the hell did he get in?" I demand, tucking them into my belt.

"I wouldn't let him in through the door, so I think he climbed up the fire escape." Montoya said.

"He's got a death wish." I moan.

"Do you want my help?" Montoya asks.

"No." I say.

_The last thing I need is for Ricky to casually refer to Montoya as my accomplice. _

"Go wait outside." I said.

He begins to argue, but I hear voices being raised in the kitchen. I push past Montoya and open the door.

Pete is holding one of his display Bo staffs, and Ricky is at the fridge, going through Chinese takeout boxes. Ricky mumbles something inaudible before swallowing and turning to me.

"Hey Nikki." He says in his abnormally disturbing way. "Enjoying the Big Apple?"

I shoot him a line of daggers in my stare. Pete's voice interrupts my venomous thoughts.

"…Nikkia…you know this man?" Pete said warily.

I put my hand to my throbbing head.

"Yes. Pete, this is my boss,"—

"Richard Flanagan." Ricky said, sticking out his hand. "I'm the guy who nails Nikki these days."

I don't know whose head turned faster, Pete's or mine. Pete was holding back a clenched fist, and I was holding back one of my sia swords.

"I was under the impression that Nikki quit." Pete said, forcing out each syllable.

"Oh, she quit working for me long time ago." Ricky said, sipping a coke. "She has yet to quit _me_, though."

Son of a bitch. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to chop off every one of his extremities and leave them out to dry in the sun.

Ricky watches my anger boil, but pushes me farther, and tosses his arm around my shoulder.

"She's adorable, isn't she?" Ricky asked.

"Take a walk, Richard." I said, pushing him off me.

"Yessum." Ricky nodded, walking out into the hall.

Pete stares from the doorway to me.

"Well that's something you forgot to mention." Pete said. "Mind explaining to me what the hell that guy is doing in my house?"

" He's my old boss,"—

"And apparently the guy who nails you."

"He's got issues. Big issues." I say, going over the lines in case this happened. " I was suppose to contact him one last time to clarify I wasn't going back, but sometimes, he…"

"Flies halfway around the world to find you." Pete asks.

If Pete only knew how true that was.

"I think I need to have a word with him." I say.

"I think you do." Pete agreed.

I walk out into the living room, where Ricky is staring at one of Pete's Japanese woodprints. Ricky turns just in time for me to kick him where it hurts.

"Fucking A!!!" He yells as he sinks down to his knees.

"You are dead." I say.

"This is the thanks I get for checking up on you?!?" he demands.

"A civilian Ricky? Are you fucking kidding me?!?! You showed your face, gave your name to a fucking civilian?!?!" I yelled.

"He's a civilian?" Ricky asked. "My mistake. I should have known he was a civilian from the way he knew your real name and from the sex you two are having."

I move my hand out to hit him again, but he dodges this time.

"You knew he was a civilian." I hiss.

"… I had an inkling." Ricky said. "What are you doing chilling with a civilian if you knew I was coming?"

"YOU said twenty days."

"I said WORST CASE twenty days." He corrected.

I stop. I freeze. I look him in the eye.

"You mean…" I stutter. "You found…"

He runs his hands through his loose hair.

"Um…well, I haven't really found anything per say…."

I move to hit him, he dodges, and I catch him with my other hand. I lift him off the ground and pin him to the wall.

"I've got a date in ten hours with someone who says they know a 'lil something. I'm on it, Baby, I swear!!!!" he chokes.

"You've been fucking around for a week." I said.

"Do the words 'Wanted Dead or Alive' mean anything to you?" he argues. "This person got her eye ripped out, bit by a black mamba, and then she got set on fire. And twenty years later, I'm making sure she really is dead. Don't you think the FBI would find it suspicious if someone starting asking all these questions all at once? "

I squeeze his throat to make him shut up.

"You don't care about the FBI." I said. "You tease them with your face whenever you can. Danger gets you off. That's why you go to big cities and drop the money. That's why you follow me around and torment me. There's a new rule now. If you don't find anything, you don't talk to me."

"I came…I came here to warn you…." Ricky gasps.

"You came here to annoy me." I complete.

The front door opens, and Montoya sticks his head in.

"Nikki?" He asks.

"I told you to stay outside!" I bark.

"There's a strange girl outside." He says, looking unnerved. "She has on roller skates and a machete…."

I feel Ricky's throat quiver. _Son of a bitch…_

"She asked if I knew you, and when I said yes, she said she wanted to peel off all my fingernails." Montoya elaborated.

Ricky kicked his legs, but it was too late for him. I dig my fingers into his blistering neck.

"You brought Lolita with you?" I asked icily.

"…. I told her to wait in the car." Ricky gasped.

"You brought her _here_???" I scream.

"Only because she said someone was following you!"

I slam Ricky down to the floor, and make more noise then I should have. I pause for a moment, but I don't hear Pete.

"I practically had to shake it out of her, FYI." Ricky gagged from the floor. "I came here to warn you."

"Bullshit." I said.

"Do I still have to wait outside?" Montoya asked.

"GET OUT!!!" I screamed.

Ricky rolls onto his stomach, and Montoya slams the door. And as I put my foot on Ricky's back, the shatter of glass echoes from inside the kitchen.

There was a split second calm, and Ricky and I both felt it. A scream cut through the air like a blade, and was silenced by gunshot.

_Pete._

I don't think. My body reacts. I'm at the door, I'm kicking it open, one of sai's is in my hand. I'm running forward, I'm dodging a fist, I'm slicing through air and cloth and flesh, I'm sprayed across the face with skin and blood.

I close my eyes and let the warm blood bring me back to the world. A giant guy is standing in front of me with a gash across his chest. It hasn't registered in his head yet, but the gun hangs loose in his hand. I kick out his legs, the gun clatters, and he's on the floor. I would have plowed my fist into his head until I bashed his brains out, but the sound of rasping breaths pulled me away.

Pete. He's huddled in the corner, breathing quickly and holding his arm. He's shaking and bleeding like hell. I drop my sword and run to him.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

Pete moves his hand to show where the bullet skimmed his upper arm. It's deep, very deep. But he'll live. I yank a towel off of the counter and help him make him a tourniquet, and as I do, the door to the kitchen opens.

"What's going on? Is Pete dead?" Ricky asks.

A second gunshot, and a bullet is planted into the wall a foot from Ricky's head. The guy is still on the ground, but the gun is back in his hand.

"Jesus Christ, that almost hit me." He yelped. Ricky glances over to me, but when he sees I'm not grinning, his smile fades. He walks over to the goon, kicks the gun out of his hand. He picks the guy up by his soaked red collar, and throws him against the counter.

"Who sent you?" Ricky demanded.

"Fuck you!!!" The guy yelled.

Ricky yanks my sword off the ground and in a swift movement, drills it through the mans hand. Pete gasps as the man screams.

"Who sent you??!!!" Ricky yelled again.

"Enough Ricky!" I command.

The man looked at me, and pulled himself up off the counter. He knocked Ricky aside, yanked the sword out of his hand, and ran at me.

I duck under his legs and move away from Pete. The man stabs sloppily after me and splashes blood. As I dodge his advances, I reach down and pull my other sword out of my belt. The sheath clatters to the floor, and I pull the guys arm aside and sink the blade into his face.

I pulled the blade along the side of his cheek, ripping open his mouth. His jaw hung loosely forward like a demented shark, blood bubbling up and over. His tongue becomes tangled in my sword, and spills out the side of his mangled face. Blood and spit and bits of teeth everywhere. I yanked my other sword out of his hand and cut him across the neck. I felt his body tense and his fingers clench my pant leg as the blood sprayed out of his throat. Finally, his eyes role back in his head, and he falls to the floor.

After the last drop of blood dies away and I yank his hand off of my pants, I pick up my dreadfully heavy head and looked over at Pete. He was gasping, his eyes darting between me and the man I had just killed. I took a step towards him.

"Are you okay Pete?" I asked.

"Nikkia...." he said with pain.

I reached my hand forward and touched his neck.

"Your heart is fast. Take a few deep breaths."

"That man...you...you...his head..." Pete stammered.

Pete looked over at Ricky, who had walked over to the body. He pulled out his wallet.

"Anybody know a Otto Mallone?" Ricky asked.

Mallone…_Mallone_. _Son of a bitch._

"Fucking A Jay." I mumble.

"Wassat?" Ricky asks.

"Ace Jayson." I mumbled. "This is one of Ace's fucking clowns."

_Son of a bitch, the fucking brat is still alive._

Pete looks up at me.

"Ace?" He asks shakily. "F-from Ultimate Fighter Showdown?"

I turn my eyes away in time to see Ricky pull out a gun and point it at Pete.

"Sorry Pete," he said.

I kick the gun out of Ricky's hand before he can pull the trigger. Ricky stares at his empty palm for a moment before glancing at me.

"Nobody touches him." I said, wrapping my arm around Pete. "NOBODY."

Finally, Ricky seems to understand. He takes on a face I've rarely seen before, and he sighs.

"I'll send Lolita in for clean up." Ricky says solemnly before getting up and walking out of the room.

"He, he...he was going to shoot me..." Pete mumbled.

"He won't be coming back." I say. "you'll be alright."

Pete took a breath and jumped to his feet. He started to move to the phone.

"I...I need to call someone. The police..." he started.

I caught his wrist. This time, I didn't pretend to be week. I twisted his hand back and pulled the phone from his fingers. As the phone fell from Pete's hand, he yanked back his arm and stared at me in terror.

"I think it'd be better if we didn't get them involved." I said gently.

Stupid thing to say. Pete wasn't like that. He was a good person. He was innocent, loving, and naive about how terrible the world really is.

And now he was looking at the real me for the first time in my life.

_**---KK---**_

We sit together, on the couch, completely silent. Pete stared at my feet, his eyes opening and closing. He took a deep breath.

"You… you kill people?" Pete whispered.

"Yeah."

He swallowed. He looked up briefly.

"…You would…you'd kill me?" he asked.

"Pete…" I reached my hand up to touch him. He shriveled away.

"I would never hurt you." I say.

Pete took a deep breath. He took another.

"You okay?"

"How long?" Pete demanded. "How long have you been doing this?!"

"I started after I went back to Japan. I met Ricky through Minoru."

"Askawa's brother? The one who was in the Yakuza gang?"

"Yeah." I said.

"How many?" he asked.

"I…I don't keep count." I mumbled.

Pete pressed his hands to his mouth.

"I think I'm going to be sick." He said.

I put my hand on his shoulder. He flinched.

"Pete, _please_. Look at me." I begged.

Pete pulled his hands down and turned slowly. I brought my hand up to his face.

"I'm still the same person." I say.

Pete shook his head and looked back down on the floor. I sighed and looked down there with him.

"What did you think I was doing, Pete?" I asked. "You knew my mom was murdered, and you knew who did it. Why did you think I was so obsessed with martial arts? Why did I train for three years in a forest in Japan?"

_Why are you so surprised?_ _I don't dare say it that bluntly._

"I…I knew it had something to do with…with _that_…that was what I was always afraid of." Pete mumbled. "But…this…how is there any justice in _this_?"

"I needed to do this." I said. "To find Her…"

The kitchen door opens and interrupts my jumbled explanation.

Lolita roller-skated into the room, her machete dripping. Her tight spandex pants and loose fitting Kimono top were enough of a reference to Sin City's Miho, but she had gone out of her way to splatter as much blood across herself as possible. Two black garbage bags were tucked beneath her arms.

"All done." She announced.

"Go out the way you came in." I instructed.

Lolita glanced at Pete, and a sadistic smile spread across her face.

"I have to give you something first."

Lolita skated up to the two of us, and Pete dug himself into the couch behind me. Lolita dropped one of the garbage bags to the floor and opened it. She sticks a hand in, fished around, and pulled out Otto's mangled head.

My sai swords were still in it.

Pete bent over and gagged. He threw up.

At least he didn't see Lolita yank the swords out and put them in my lap. She dropped the head back in the garbage bag with a sick smile.

"I'm going to go now," she said, twirling her machete and skating over to the door.

As Pete moans and his stomach convulses, I lay a hand gently on his back. Every muscle of his tenses beneath my touch.

"I think you should go." he coughs.

"I'm not like her, Pete." I whisper.

"Get out." He says.

I only linger for a moment.

Pete doesn't watch me get up, but I feel his eyes on the back of my head when I turn. I don't bother telling him I'm sorry. Telling him goodbye. Telling him I love him. He's found out what I really am, and it repulses him. He's afraid of me and the monster inside of me, and for the first time, I'm scared of it too. There is no part of me that expected him to accept my world. All there is is guilt and regret and lost life and lost love and the frame of a doorway and a lifetime between us.

The door closes. Montoya jumps off the floor and yanks up his guitar case with him. I turn and look at him for a minute.

"Ricky told me what happened…" He says. "Are you alright?"

A part of me wants to slam out his teeth for saying anything, but all I can do is nod.

"…Let's get out of here." I say.

As we walk away, I realize that the final string connecting me to a world of innocence has been cut. This is the second and last time I'm walking away from it, and back into the arms of my vendetta.

What little there is left of it.

Montoya puts a comforting arm on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. We step out of the elevator and walk silently out the door.

And I look out at the world alone.

_**--KK--**_

**Pete stood at the window, staring into his reflection. The wound A Jay's hitman had given him had begun bleeding again—it probably went down to the bone. But he did nothing to prevent the blood flowing out of him. **

**He looked down the building and watched as Nikki walked out. Her and her friend paused at the exit, and Pete balled his hand into a fist.**

_**Leave. Oh god, leave.**_

**Pete felt sick. As Nikki took the first slow and excruciating steps down the street, he swore under his breath. He hated himself for his naivete and his stupidity. Moreover, he hated himself for thinking that he was immune to the brutality and ugliness of the world. He made it a habit of forming emotional attachments to people who had experienced heartbreak, thinking he could help them. He thought back to that day he had told Nikki to stop fighting, and realized the audacity of his past claims that he didn't understand what was driving her. And now, he finally understood what it meant to be truly alone. **

**He forced himself out of his mind, and looked down the street. And as he watched that assassin, that murderer, that cold blooded killer walk away, no such labels registered in his head. All he saw was Nikkia Bell.**

**And she was leaving. **

**Pete looked down, and saw that he had dug his nails clear through his skin. He instantly thought of how Nikki used to scratch herself raw like this, and not even notice. He curled his fingers back up again before digging his fist into the wall next to the window. **

_**Oh, fuck.**_

**He had felt that one. He had probably just broken his hand, but he willed himself not to let it hurt. Not to feel his stinging hand, his twisted bones, the blood draining from him. He took a deep breath, and once again focused his gaze on his reflection. His eyes widened.**

**Someone was behind him. **

**Pete ducked just as the blade came out from behind him. He spun around, and was face to face with a young woman dressed in black. Before he could curl his mangled knuckles back into a fist, he felt the warm ooze of blood hit him in his stomach. He looked down, and saw the samurai sword had been plunged shallowly into him. **_**How could he not feel it?**_

**The girl stared down at her Samurai sword for a split second before jerking her wrist and twisting the blade. Pete screamed. He flailed his arm forward and managed to grab hold of her neck. **

**As the girls scream cut through the air, Pete closed his eyes. He felt himself being jerked backward as the sword was plunged deeper inside of him. Through the pounding of his ears, he almost swore he heard a door slam. He looked up hoping to god it was Nikkia, and lost his grip. The girl kicked him, the glass shattered, and Pete bloodily slid off of the sword and out the window.**

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And thus ends Chapter 15. The next chapter will be out in a few weeks or sooner if people request it. Regarding any mistakes—Same thing as always: I've checked as much as I can without re-writing it on the spot. I'll correct any others later. Any questions, comments or suggestions, you know what to do. Thanks for reading!

Write on!


	16. One Love

Authors Note: Sorry for the long wait. If there are any readers left, I want to thank you all for sticking with me. It's through writing this fanfic and through all the suggestions/feedback I get that made me the writer I am now. **Announcement at the end of the chapter.**

Disclaimer: all original characters are reserved.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 16**

**Location: USA, New York**

**Date: 10/10/24**

"_I've fought the decisions that call and lost my part as the relevant piece in this: I will come reformed. In short for the murders of those I court, I bless the hour that holds your fall: I will kill you all_." –Coheed and Cambria: The Crowing

" I didn't know who I shot that night." Montoya says as we walked down the street. "It was dark and it was raining."

"Well, A Jay is still alive, and that's one more piece of shit to throw on the pile." I mutter.

I glanced back at my old apartment, now a block away. I feel an all too familiar sting in the back of my eyes. Montoya catches my gaze.

"It could have gone worse." he says.

I hear a woman scream, and every fiber of my being stands on ends. Something rips inside me. I turn back and run down the street to Pete's apartment.

He was crumbled up on the cement sidewalk, his legs twisted out to an impossible angle. Blood. So much blood. Splattered across his chest, running down his body. Dripping from the corner of his mouth. Pooling in the concrete around his head.

No.

No. No. NO.

_He moved._

"Pete." I whisper.

He blinks, and his eyes rolled over to me. He moved his hand off his stomach. Blood. _Oh god, oh Jesus, so much blood._

"Oh, Nikkia…" he whispered. " You…you came back."

I run to him. I kneel down and grab his hand.

"Somebody….somebody stabbed me. She pushed me…my head…it…"

I look back up to the top of the building. I see her. A girl in a black skirt. She was leaning out of the window, watching. I look back down at Pete.

"Listen Pete, you're gonna be fine, okay? You're gonna be just fine. I'm gonna go get the people who did this to you. I'm going to make them pay."

I started to stand up, but Pete grabbed onto me with both hands.

"Oh, please Nikkia…please don't leave me here…" he whispers.

I looked back up at the building. The girl was gone.

I pull Pete up and rest his head in my lap. _Oh, God the back of his head_… it felt like there was a dent, a crack, a hole. I reached to touch it, to see how much blood there was and if it could be stopped, but he screamed out in agony when I did, so I stopped.

"Oh, God Pete, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" I mumbled.

I hear rapid breathing behind me. Montoya had finally caught up. He looks down at Pete and me.

"Top floor. Find out who's up there. Move!" I yell.

Montoya ran into the building without a word. Pete tightened his grip on my hand.

"Nikkia…" he whispers.

"Don't try to speak." I say

"I…I have to tell you something…" he coughs.

I looked at his wound. Oh god, so much blood was coming out. I press my hand over the wound and a sea of sickness washes over me. The blood rises over my fingers, engulfing my palm.

_Why did the people I kill have so little blood in comparison? _

"I…I was wrong…about you…" he says.

"Pete, it's okay."

"It's not, though. It's…it's all wrong. " He gasps. "I don't know much about murder…how many people you've killed. But…you still came back…after what I said…you came back…."

"I didn't know you'd be here, Pete. If I had known this would happen, I would have done anything to prevent it. Anything." I whisper.

Pete looked confused for a moment, then shook his head.

"I meant now. Right here." He, gestures with his eyes to his bloody body. "You …came back. Even after all you've done...you came back. For me."

I want to hold him, but there's no way I can do it without hurting him. He groans, cries out in pain, and takes my hand tightly in his. He begins babbling.

I always felt that…that it was my job to protect you…" he mumbles.

He spit up blood. I felt my insides twist.

"…But you never needed me. You were strong…"

"That's not true, Pete…" I said. Pete didn't seem to hear. He kept talking.

"I always saw the…potential you had, beneath your stubbornness. I knew…you had the power…to become something great…" He said.

"I'm so sorry I let you down Pete. You have no idea…"

"Let down? No…not you. What you've become…frightens me. I feel, somehow, as if…as if I could have prevented it…but Nikkia. I still see that potential in you. It's still there…you can still be something great."

"Pete…" I whispered. Tears were running down my face.

"I know what I said was unforgivable…but…could you…maybe… pretend I didn't say it?" He asked.

I bend down and kiss him. He moved his tongue against mine, but didn't kiss back. I could taste his blood. It tasted so strong. That familiar taste of metal and liquid pain…oh god. If I ever stop kissing him, my tongue will be tattooed red.

Our lips part. He sighed. His eyes were closed.

"Have I told you how blissful it's been since you came back?" He asked.

"Tell my again." I mumbled.

"I've died and gone to heaven…" he said.

I started sobbing. I started bawling. I can't take this. Oh god, I can't. I can't. it's too much.

"Nikkia...Don't cry…" Pete opened his eyes. He blinked. "Nikkia? Nikkia?!"

"I'm right here Pete. I'm still holding on." I sobbed, tightening my grip on his hand. He looked around, confused.

"I…I can't see you…" he whispers.

He looked up at the sky again, and his lips parted with a tiny sigh. His eyes went unfocused.

"PETE!?!? It's gonna be okay, right?! I'm still holding on!! Hold on too… please… PLEASE PETE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! PETE!!!" I screamed. I cried. I buried my face in his neck.

"Don't leave me again…" I whispered.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up. Montoya. He had tears in his eyes.

"Nikki…" he said.

"She pushed him. She killed him. Who was she?" I asked.

"Nikki…we have to go." Montoya said.

"Did you see her?" I demand.

"Only for…for a moment…she…she escaped through the roof." He mumbled.

I lower Pete's body to the ground, and rise above him.

"I'll kill her." I say.

Montoya grabs my arm.

"She's already gone, Nikki." He whispers.

"I'll find her." I hiss. "I'll kill her. I'll kill her…."

"We'll find her, but Nikki, the police are coming." Montoya says. "We need to go."

I look back down at Pete, bloody and broken. He's gone. There's nothing left. Not here, not anywhere.

Montoya uproots me and drags me away.

_**--KK--**_

**On the roof of a neighboring building, Akira stared down at the road. Sadako sat still and crumbled on the gravel of the roof. **

**Akira watched as Montoya pulled Baby Cobra off down the road, forcing her to leave her lover's bloody corpse behind. Things had gone wrong, so wrong. He had given Sadako no order to kill the civilian—she had done so on her own accord. There would be consequences for this. They'd killed someone too pivotal. Someone Baby Cobra came back for. Baby Cobra had seen Sadako, and knew she had killed her lover. **

**They would be found out, it was a matter of time. All that needed to happen was for Richard Flanagan to get involved, and Baby Cobra would be able to trace them. Akira regarded himself and Sadako as instruments, tools of death. But after seeing the complexity of Baby Cobra and the murder in her eyes, he truly wondered if she could be stopped. By him, by Sadako, by their employer, by anyone. **

**Akira looked at Sadako, who had her hand around her neck, feeling the welts Pete Marsters had left on her. Akira took out his phone with a heavy heart, knowing full well if he recounted Sadako's actions, she would be the lamb to the slaughter. She was getting too reckless. To unpredictable. **

**And as he punched in the numbers, he knew that he would take the fall for this. For her. **

_**--KK--**_

**Five hours later**

I am a shell as we get out of the car and walk into the hotel. I don't even know what floor we check into. I shut the door to the room gently behind me, but I linger at the frame. The walls are paneled with wood like a cabin, with rich oak framing the door.

I plow my fist into it. The wall cracks and splinters spray across the room.

I look down at my fist. Blood, skin. I feel that vague sting of pain tugging at me far away. _It's too far away. It's not strong enough._

I slam my fist into the wall a second time, and the woodwork collapses into itself. The cracks spread. _Again._ Met with the jagged pieces of wood this time, my skin tears. Blood flows through the new-formed grooves in the wood, and drips down to the floor.

I pull my fist back, but this time, Montoya grabs my arm and tries to pull me away from the wall. I spin around, and slam him across the face with my other hand. He moans, but he's still holding my hand. I punch him again, this time across the jaw. He lets go and steps back. This time, I attack him with my bloody left hand. I pull my fist back to see the sticky red pull off his cheek. His own blood. There's a splinter of wood imbedded in his face.

"Nikki…" Montoya gags in pain.

I pull my fist back and hit him as hard as I can. I hook him in that eye of his, the eye I pulled out so many weeks ago. It was still red, still tender, and he made a noise of pure agony as he sank down to the floor.

"Please…" he whimpers.

I flip him over with my legs, and he stares up at me. His red, swollen face strikes something in me. Blood pours out of the corner of his eye, and he's shaking, his chest convulsing. His head rotates slowly up at me, and he opens his eyes as if doing so would kill him.

_As if I would kill him if he dared to look._

I turn from him then. I walk to the door and peel it open and I run. I run out on the connected balcony of the hotel hallway—I'm on the ledge. I jump.

I fall through the cold air for what I count as two stories. I land on my feet with bent knees, not injured in the least. I look in front of me. Parking lot. Across it, a building. A fire escape.

My shell reacts.

I tear across the parking lot, I jump, and my hand skims the rusty bar of the fire escape. I'm climbing up the stairs, faster. Faster. I'm ten stories when the stairs end. My feet hit the gravel. I'm across the roof. I'm kicking off, flying. The next building is significantly shorter. I hit it with heavy feet, my muscles strain.

_Not enough._

I keep running. I run until I jump off the last building and the only thing separating me from the freeway is a field of grass and rubbery plants. I'm already across it. I'm running across the concrete of the dark street. There are no cars. There's only me.

I drive my body until the grassy land that borders the freeway thickens and I come to the forest. I steer off the street and into the woods. I navigate through fallen dead trees and breathing living ones. I climb stone, bat branches, skim across little rivers. I run until I no longer see the freeway. Through the tree line, I watch the orange sun set into the horizon over the frozen, hallow, bloody world.

_**---KK---**_

**Location: Crazy Town**

The moonless, starry sky shines down on me, and across to a shadowed figure sitting on a lower down tree branch. I don't even try to shake it off. I deserve it.

"Nobody deserves this much misery." The woman says.

I turn away and face the other side of the tree branch, but it's too late. She's on the branch in front of me now, and I'm looking right at her. There's no fighting it anymore.

"Copperhead." I say.

It's not a greeting so much as it is me acknowledging my own delirium. She takes it for one though.

"I'm sorry about your boyfriend." She says.

"He wasn't my boyfriend." I mumble.

"He loved you. If you hadn't had left, he would have married you…."

She trails off. I look up, and she's gone. For a moment, I'm relived—but the voice reappears. This time, she's next to me.

"And if you hadn't come back, he wouldn't have been killed." She said.

"That's me talking." I say. "Not you."

We sit in silence. Or rather, I sit, engulfed in my own insanity.

"It's all for you, you know." I say. "Everything I've done. It's all for you."

"Baby, do you really think this is what I wanted for you?" She asks.

"You're dead. It doesn't matter what you wanted—It was my choice." I said.

"Was all that pain and suffering worth it, then?"

I hear a rustle from down below me, and my mom is gone. I look down, and in the light of the stars, I see Ricky.

Gone is his smile, his playfulness. He stares up at me with serious, tired eyes.

"How long have you been there?" I asked.

He doesn't say anything for a moment. Finally, he sighs.

"An hour or so." Ricky says. He runs a hand through his loose hair.

I stare at him.

"…Will you try to kill me if I come up there and talk to you?" he asks.

He's being sincere, and I realize now that's why he hadn't said anything this past hour. If I hadn't had calmed down, I probably would have beat him till he was on the verge of death. Till he begged for it.

I shake my head, and he puts his briefcase under his arm and climbs up the tree. Ricky is strong, so he gets to my branch fast. He pulls himself up and sits down next to me.

"Who were you talking to?" he asks.

I don't lie. Ricky's experienced his own share of crazy, and my mental instabilities seem mild to Lolita. It's my reaction to them that makes me feel naked.

"My mom." I say.

Ricky nods but doesn't say anything, and I silently thank him for it. The clouds part and reveal a crescent moon.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked.

"Francisco said you ran out of the balcony." Ricky says gently. "I figured you'd go for the buildings, and when they ran out, you'd keep going. You left a little blood every now and then."

_Francisco. Montoya. The Acuna Boy._

"How is he?" I asked.

"I gave him some stuff for his face. The kid took quite a beating, but he was mostly just shook up. He was afraid you were gonna hurt yourself."

We sit silent for a moment, and I begin to feel how cold the night air is around me. I'm still in the same old jeans and tank I picked off the floor. Ricky sees me shivering, and pulls off his sports jacket. He hands it to me wordlessly, and I put it on.

"I'm sorry about Pete." Ricky says. "I really am."

"You were gonna shoot him." I recall.

Ricky tensed, waiting for me to hit him. I didn't.

"I went back up there to see what had happened. I saw that he had your old broadswords." Ricky mumbled. "I didn't know that he was the …the guy you left to work for me."

"He said a woman stabbed him. Dropped him out the window." I said. "Someone,"—

"Someone else is following you." Ricky said. "Someone besides that Ace clown. They've been following you since you were in Acuna at least. They were the ones that killed Sofie Fatel."

I look at him.

"They also," he added. " Killed Esteban Vihaio and the remaining Acuna boys."

"Who are they?" I asked.

"Don't know, but I can guess who they work for." He said.

We stare at each other, and a shiver drills its way into my spine, strumming its fingers along every nerve in my body.

_Black Mamba. _

I dig my fingers into the branch, I breathe hard through clenched teeth.

"I think there's two, a guy and a girl. They seem…," Ricky continued. "To be killing off anyone you've talked to. At least the ones you wouldn't come back into contact with. Clearing a trail. Hanzo is still alive, so I'm guessing they don't want to draw anyone's attention…and since only a handful of people know who and where Hanzo is, I would say they they're trying not to catch _my_ attention specifically…."

Ricky trails off as he sees everything in me overflow. My hate, my rage, my anger, my self-loathing, my loneliness, my stupid, pathetic, wasted, bloody numbness.

"Do you remember your new rule?" Ricky asked.

_New rule_? I shake my head.

"The one about how I don't talk to you unless I find something for you?" He asks.

I briefly remember screaming this at him. Ricky takes his briefcase and hands it to me.

"I just wanted you to know…it's not an empty gesture."

I unhook the latches with shaking fingers. At the top, in front of stacks of paper and folders, is a loose picture, eight by ten, of a bloody little thing. A smashed eyeball. Elle's Eye. The picture looks like it as taken as part of an autopsy report, but most of it is charred black. I look up at Ricky, who gestures I give it a closer look.

I lean forward into the moonlight, and I can now see the black is only flaked in certain areas. I can make out the leaked pupil; the yellow tint of the eye; the brown of the iris.

_The brown of the iris…._

Holy shit.

I look up at Ricky, who's smiling a sadder version of his trademark grin.

"Elle Driver, aka California Mountain Snake of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. First DiVA on the left. Her most distinguishing mark: her single blue eye."

"She didn't die," I whisper.

"If she did, the body in Budd's trailer wasn't hers. The eye went with the body, blood match." He said. " Whatever it takes, Nikki. Remember when you told me that?"

My hands are shaking too violently, and the suitcase falls from my hands. I reach down to catch it, but Ricky takes my arms in his.

"Don't worry, the rest is just technical stuff." He says. "I've gotten all of my contacts to digging around at hospitals in the area, Hell, I even subcontracted this douche I know in the FBI under an alias…in twenty four hours. That's a promise, Nikki. I swear it. "

I open and close my mouth.

"So I fall apart…and you get it together?" I finally ask.

Ricky smiles.

"You may not be able to believe this…but I know what it's like to feel the blood of a loved one on your hands. There's not a thing on Earth more condemning then that." Ricky says. "After what happened, I couldn't expect you to accept any comfort I could have offered you…but I can offer you this."

I look down at the picture of the eye.

"Ricky…." I whisper.

"Would you have stayed?" Ricky asked suddenly. "If…if he hadn't have died, if I hadn't had found anything…would you have stayed with him?"

On old reflex, I consider reaching out and hitting him. But something changed. Everything's changed.

"I wasn't sure. I don't think I'll ever be sure." I say.

Ricky stares at me, silently begging me to elaborate. I sigh.

"Everything…everything in my life was born out of my vengeance. I met Montoya by yanking his eye out his head, I met you tied to a chair in a Yakuza torture flat, I met Pete while I was wondering if I would ever make it this far. It's all just this massive map of my vendetta. There's no before…no after. Only the in between." I say. " I thought it was the only thing I had to live for, that I'd left nothing behind…turns out I wrong. And now I'm back where I started."

"Where's that?" Ricky asked.

Where is that? That helpless little girl on the kitchen floor, staring into the dead eyes of innocence. The first time, it was my own. This time, it was someone else. Someone else's pain and suffering, someone I had loved and hurt time and time again.

"Left all alone and messed up." I whisper. "All because of one person. Her. I spend twenty years trying to find her, and right when I think there might be a trace of life beyond, she takes it all away again."

Ricky contemplates this for a moment.

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." He says.

"She fucked up bad," I say. "Black Mamba."

"How was that?" Ricky asked.

"She killed the one person who could have convinced me this was wrong." I say. "Now there's nothing stopping me. I'll kill her. I'll kill all of them. Beatrix Kiddo, and however many people are working for her. I'll kill them all."

"Baby," Ricky says. "When you're done with them, there'll be nothing left."

He reaches into his belt and pulls out something.

"You dropped these, by the way." Ricky says.

Ricky holds the swords out to me, the silver glowing in the light. I see my own reflection caught in the blade, staring out at the darkness with a look that could kill. Story of my life.

"Who do you love?" Ricky asks.

I take the blades.

* * *

Finally, I got that out of my system. I had a big spell of writer's block for a while, and truthfully, not being able to was stressing me out. Extremely. It seems that when I can't write, I can't focus on anything else.

It's good to be back.

Announcement: for those of you who have visited my profile, this is old news, but I'm still pretty excited. I have finally worked out a good plot for a graphic novel, and I will be including some of my original characters from Kill Kiddo. This includes but is not limited to: Ricky, Montoya, Lolita, Akira and Sadako. Since Nikki Bell is trade marked, my protagonist will be reworked from the ground up, although her personality will be closely based to my interpretation of Baby Cobra's.

I am planing to send the pitch in some time in the summer, so check out my Deviant art page from time to time. Nothing there yet, but all in good time. Thanks for reading! As always, I'll correct when I can. Please review, comment, critic, question, anything.

Write on!


	17. The Boy From Acuna

**Authors Note**: Testing, Testing…anyone still reading this thing?

It's been quite a while, and the only way I can make up for it is to punish you all with the longest chapter I've written for Kill Kiddo thus far. This will also be the first chapter NOT to center around Nikki. In a useless effort to keep the word count down, I'll save notes for later and just dive in headfirst. If there's any confusion, this chapter takes place before Ricky went to find Nikki, and if there's additional confusion, refer back to chapters 3, 5, 9, 13 and 16. Key parts come into play.

**Disclaimer****:** I do not own Kill Bill. I own every character that was not mentioned in the film, and like many of my fellow fic writers, I plan to recycle.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 17**

_"When the day begins to break, like the tears that run across your cheek, stand straight and imagine you then. In the things and the way they could have been, when the thoughts they race across your chin--here in the Neverend..." _

--Coheed and Cambria, Neverender

**

* * *

**

**Location: Vermont, USA**

**Date: October 10th, 2024**

The first thing Ricky noticed walking into the hotel room was the giant crack in the door frame. It was fucking huge. Wet blood still clung to it, and Ricky didn't need two guesses to know it came from Nikki.

The second thing Ricky noticed was the stray dog Nikki picked up in Acuna, lying motionless and bloody on the floor.

_This was not good. _

Nikki never had the stomach for killing kids, and even if her Latino accomplice wasn't dead, the way she had left him in was a pretty good indication of her state of mind at the moment. Ricky walked up to the Acuna Boy, dropped his bags, and reached down to feel for a pulse. As he touched him, the boys chest rose and he opened his eyes.

The next thing Ricky knew, a fist flew out of nowhere and he barely dodged it.

"Hey!" Ricky said, waving his hand. The kid seemed to be blinded either by shock or by the beating he took, and he pulled up onto his knees and went in for another hit. This time, his aim was completely off. Ricky sighed to himself as he grabbed the kid by the shoulders.

"C'mon, Acuna Boy! Snap outta it," Ricky said, shaking him.

It took a moment for the familiar voice to register. Montoya stopped squirming and parted his good eye.

"...Ricky." he mumbled.

"Yah," Ricky said, letting go of him and standing up. "Looks like shit hit the fan already."

He extended a hand down to the kid, and to his surprise, the boy bolted upright.

"Nikki," Montoya moaned. "Where's Nikki?"

Ricky stared at him.

"You're gonna have to tell _me_," he said.

Montoya's eye widened and he grabbed at Ricky's shirt collar.

"She went out the door. We have to go after her!" he yelled.

The frantic Acuna Boy tugged Ricky a few feet to the door before plowing into the carpet. Ricky pulled the boy back up and grimaced.

_Holy hell, did Nikki fuck this kid up. _

One of his eyes was swollen shut, caked in blood and yellow fluid. The rest of his face was equally distorted—a thick splinter of wood was embedded in his left temple. The bruise that had formed around it was engulfing it, and Ricky knew from experience exactly how painful it was to have tender flesh rise against jagged wood.

"What are you waiting for?" Montoya demanded. He threw his hand to the door. "Go get her!!!"

Ricky looked at the door for a moment, then back at the kid. He took a step out the door and walked down the hallway, over to the balcony. When Nikki got rubbed the wrong way, she didn't stop to make an exit plan. She jumped off of buildings.

The blood on the ground below confirmed it.

On the way back to the room, Ricky stopped at the ice machine and filled his coat. When he stepped back into the room, Montoya stood up from the bed.

"Was she out there?" he demanded. "Did you see her?!"

"Long gone, kid," Ricky said, stripping a pillowcase from the bed and scooping the ice up into it.

"We need to go get her," Montoya yelled.

Ricky rolled his eyes and looked at the frantic boy.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Montoya snapped his head up in surprise.

"I told you in the hallway earlier today," he said. "At Pete's house."

"I hear a lot of names," Ricky shrugged. "What was yours again?"

"Francisco Montoya. Nikki just calls me Montoya," he mumbled.

"Okay, Francisco Montoya, put this on your face," Ricky said, passing him the ice. "Now let me ask you, how long have you known Baby Cobra?"

"A few weeks," Montoya said, reluctantly taking the ice.

"Ever seen her get angry?" Ricky asked.

Montoya stared at him with his one good eye.

"A few times," he said sarcastically.

"No you haven't. Neither have I. Know how I know?" he asked.

Montoya scrunched up his bloody face and shook his head.

"Because when she gets angry around someone, she doesn't beat the shit out of them and run away. She finishes the job." Ricky said. "And going out and looking for her right now would not be a smart thing to do. Comprende?"

Montoya glared at him. His head was throbbing and the ice was melting through the pillowcase and stinging his raw skin. He finally set himself down on the bed and pulled the ice over his eye. He heard a shuffling and the creak of the door and watched silently as Ricky waved and walked out.

He couldn't care less.

Montoya whimpered as the ice trailed down onto the piece of wood protruding out of his face. He lifted a shaking hand and in a seamless motion, yanked it clean out. He winced and convulsed, but he didn't scream or cry out. He threw the bloody splinter to the table, and as he did, he glanced at the alarm clock. Not even six o'clock yet.

Reluctantly, Montoya leaned back and laid down on the bed. So he would wait then. Wait a few hours and then go look for Nikki. She'd be alright.

_She'd be alright. She was strong. She'd be alright. _

Montoya lifted his hand and took the golden cross around his neck in his fingers.

He'd go out and look for her, and he'd find her like he always did. When she left Acuna after pulling his eye out and putting it back in. When she decided not to kill him on a rooftop in Mexico City. When she ran from the alley while he killed a faceless man to save her life.

Montoya squeezed the little golden cross around his neck, letting it grow warm in his grasp. He was no stranger to pain, and he knew that physical pain was nothing compared to internal hurt. It was why he was so worried for Nikki now, and it was why he accepted her abuse regularly. It was why his nightmares revolved around the loss in his life instead of the scars he carried with him.

It was why he followed Baby Copperhead out of Acuna.

_**--KK--**_

**Location:**** (Memory Lane) - Acuna, Mexico**

**Date****: 11/29/2014 (ten years earlier)**

**(Note- the following dialogue has been translated from Spanish.)**

The obscured moon burned orange between the treetops, the serrated palm fronds and flimsy sheen banana leaves. A light wind dipped down and parted the grass at the bed of the forest. A few moments later the grass was parted again, this time by a pair of combat boots. The boots dragged slowly through the vegetation, and for a brief moment, the young boy who stumbled through the jungle dropped and put a palm to the ground. He breathed heavy, and when he finally picked himself back up to resume his slow pace, he left something behind amongst the dirt and dead insects.

A puddle of blood.

As the young boy limped onward, he became aware of the crunch of distant footsteps. The luxury of limping behind him now, he began to run. His loud boots alerted the pursuer, and he heard the footsteps behind him get closer. With little strength, he waited until he got to a denser part of the forest before pulling himself down into the gaps of a banyan tree.

"Francisco?"

Montoya looked up in horror, and quickly began to climb up the solidified vines of the tree. He had only made it a few yards up when his burnt hand hit a jagged branch and he cried out. In the time it took him to suck in his scream and steady himself, his follower had singled out the tree.

"Francisco," the voice breathed, directly below him.

"Go away," the boy whispered raggedly.

He paused and glanced down. The young man below him met his stare and took a step towards the tree, and the young Francisco Montoya sucked in a wretched breath and began to climb farther.

"What do you think is going happen, Fran?" Montoya's half brother called from below. "Where will you go when you run out of tree?"

"Leave me alone..." Montoya whispered, on the verge of tears.

His burnt fingers clasped around a new vine, and he slipped limply out of the tree. Montoya hit the dirt, and without so much as glancing up, he curled himself up into another gap in the tree.

Juárez walked up and stared down at the broken child. His little brother was shivering, covered in dried mud and blood. He squatted down and reached out to Montoya.

"D-don't touch me..." Montoya whimpered. "M-m-mother fucker, don't touch me..."

"Hey," Juárez said, resting his hand on Montoya's shoulder. "It's okay."

He waited for his brother to calm down before moving in closer. Juárez adverted his gaze from his brother's bloody hand, but on a second thought, he decided it needed to be dealt with. He gingerly reached out and took Montoya's wrist.

"Christ," he whispered.

Juárez wasn't there when it had happened, so he didn't get the full story. He often wrote off his brothers naiveté because of his young age—at barely eight, Francisco Montoya was starting fights with his cousins and mouthing off to the foulest of the Acuna Boys. But to shit talk to his mother while Esteban was around...

He was lucky he got off with just a burn from an iron. Juárez had heard horror stories from his older cousins and friends who had been around in the real Brothel Days—back when Esteban wasn't confined to his wheelchair. They had the missing ears and fingers to show it.

_Hell, their own mother's lip had been sliced once, wasn't that enough of a warning?_

Juárez swallowed his annoyance and inspected his brothers' hand. The flesh hadn't gone black, but the iron must have pulled off all the skin from his little finger, nail in all. It looked sore, but it had definitely been cauterized... hence the blood had come from some other wound.

"Why are you bleeding, Fran?" Juárez whispered.

His little brother sucked in a painful breath before reaching his hand down to his knees. Juarez could see through the tears in the jeans that he must have fell, but the bottom of his left leg...there was too much blood for it to be a normal scrape. He lifted the makeshift tourniquet to size up the wound—and grimaced.

"Franny...the hell did you do to yourself?" he gasped.

"I fell on some rocks. Sharp rocks," Montoya mumbled.

Juárez breathed. _It was okay._ He had seen cuts this open before, from people with infections, they had lived. He tried to numb himself to the sight. The quivering mouth of the wound, the twitching muscle, the pale his skin had drained too.

Something that looked remarkably like bone.

"It's not so bad," Juárez lied. "You ain't been out so long...we can get you home, ice it, stitch it back up..."

Montoya pulled away from his half brother immediately. He sprang to his feet, but with the loosened tourniquet, the pain came rushing down with the blood. With little alternative, he kicked himself back into the nook of the tree.

"Fuck you. I'm not going back," Montoya whispered as the world spun around him.

"Franny..."

"I'm not going back," Montoya repeated faintly. "They'll...they'll kill me if I go back..."

"They're not gonna kill you, brother," he whispered. "We've spent the whole day trying to find you, think we would do that just to kill you?"

Juárez waited for a moment before he realized Montoya's sobs had been silenced. He reached out a worried hand, making sure his brother was breathing.

"...Fran?"

_He was. Must have passed out or finally fallen asleep after a day of running through the trees. _Juárez took a moment to tighten his brothers' tourniquet before swinging him over his back.

After a few hours, he made it to the tree line, and the orange moon had worked its way up into the middle of the sky. In the eerie glow Juárez could make out the brush, the bridge, the _Botanero Cochon _sign propped up in front of the now retired brothel. He walked through the lanai and across the dirt to the old shack they lived in.

He had barely finished putting Montoya down on the couch when Clarita ran in through the door.

"Francisco!!!" she screamed, pushing past her oldest son to get to Montoya. "Is he okay?!?"

"He's fine, fast asleep," Juárez said.

"What happened to him...what the fuck happened to him, he's covered in blood,"—

Clarita dropped to the floor and gripped Montoya's shoulders, bawling. They'd all seen their share of blood, of course, but this much blood on a small child was unnerving. Juárez made a mental note not to have her in the room when they stitched up the wound.

"He just banged up his leg is all. You think aunt Rosa is still awake?" he asked.

"We're all awake, we're all looking for him."

"Okay, good. Go get her, tell her to bring whiskey and sheets. After that, I need you to go get a bag of ice from the lanai," Juárez glanced down and noticed Montoya's eyes rolling around inside his head.

"You think Esteban would have any drugs or something?" he asked. "Not heroin or nothing, just... something to make sure he stays out while we stitch up the wound?"

"Probably, yeah..." Clarita nodded.

"You should go get some of that, too, then."

Clarita threw her arms around Juárez.

"Thank you, baby," she whispered in English. "I was so fucking scared, I thought I'd lost him."

After she ran out the door, Juárez smiled to himself before going to the sink and getting a glass of water. He came back and started sifting through the drawers for his mothers sewing kit.

"You're welcome, by the way." he called over to Montoya. "Coulda just let them sew you up while you're awake."

He watched as his little brother tensed.

"I knew you were awake for the past twenty minutes," he said, coming over and sitting down on the floor.

Montoya sighed and opened his eyes, glancing out at Juárez.

"What did she say in English?" Montoya asked. "I heard her curse."

"She said she was fucking scared, she thought you were gone," Juárez laughed. "Guess they won't be killing you just yet."

Montoya growled before rolling onto his back.

"If I do die, you're gonna feel really bad," he mumbled.

"Yeah well, how about if they kill you, I kill myself to make it even?" Juárez suggested. "I'll meet up with you in heaven and apologize and you can rub it in my face."

Montoya choked back a laugh and closed his eyes.

"Don't bother. You'll just make me feel bad that you're dead." Montoya whispered as he drifted back to sleep.

_**--KK--**_

**Location****: (Memory Lane) **

**Date****: 5/21/2020 (six years later)**

As the covered pickup truck rattled down the saddle road, the five passengers inside itched at their healing wounds. They mumbled obscenities at each other, some speaking directly, others to themselves. A barley fourteen year old Montoya—who sat with his hand against the bandages on his forehead—suddenly sat up and kicked the boy in front of him.

"Jesus Christ, Carlos, will you stop busting our balls!?" Montoya demanded.

Carlos looked back at him and shoved him with his foot.

"Second we get back to Acuna, Ima get my gun and shoot your balls _off_." Carlos mumbled. "Leave me to drown in the trunk of a car."

"Fuck you, man!" Rico said, flipping him off the bloody, bandaged stump of his middle finger. "You ain't the one gotta go back to Acuna with five an a half fingers between both his hands. Stop bitching, you pussy."

Carlos reached forward and grabbed Rico's damaged finger, causing the boy to yell in pain. He didn't scream for long before Juarez sat up and aimed his gun at Carlos.

"Christ, man, put that thing away," Carlos said, dropping Rico's hand.

Juárez smiled and passed the gun back to his half brother. Montoya took it from him with a nod and clicked on the safety before tucking the gun into his belt.

It had been four days since the five Acuna Boys faced off against the Cartel—and emerged not only alive, but as victors. And although hostility still hung in the air, it was tossed around with a smile and a laugh. Even though Carlos scowled, it was obvious how content he was with his role in their tale.

Especially the end.

"Still, man," Hector shouted from the front seat. "I can't get over you taking the coke over the money. We coulda used that."

"Hey, with money, all you can do is spend it. Least with the coke we can sell _and _use it. Two birds, one stone," Carlos laughed.

"Yeah, I think we all know who's gonna use it," Montoya mumbled.

"Shutup. You left me to die in a river, you bastard." Carlos shouted with a grin.

"Not as big a bastard as you," Montoya mumbled in English.

Juárez snorted and Rico laughed. It had been a long running joke that Carlos was the worst bastard out of the five of them. Being almost out of his twenties meant that Carlos had been born back when the brothel was still in business. And although—as Carlos pointed out—none of their mothers had ever been married, the boys had it all worked out. Montoya and his brother Juárez had both been born to men their mother had been genuinely courting. As for their cousins_—_while Hector had been born back in the brothel days, his gringo father had come back years later to see his mother again. It was a bragging rite to Rico that Hector and he not only shared the same father and mother (a rarity between brothers in Acuna), but that their mother now shared a small plantation home with the man under Esteban's consent.

"We're all bastards and we're all sons of whores," Hector called back in English. "But Carlos is the only one who's just a _fuck._"

The four of them laughed hysterically as Carlos tried to piece what little English he knew together. As the dirt road narrowed into Acuna, Hector shook his head and held up his hand. Carlos let go of Montoya, and the four boys in the back glanced out the window as the truck parked at La Casa De La Cacto.

"What are we waiting for?" Rico asked.

Hector pointed at the mass of motorcycles pilled at the front of the joke of a bar. Amongst them, an old jeep painted camouflage.

"What's your dad doing here?" Carlos mumbled to Hector.

Hector got out of the truck and motioned for everyone else to stay inside. It didn't make sense. Esteban may have approved, but the newer generation of the Acuna Boys had nothing but contempt for the gringo. _Why would he be here?_

Almost immediately, Hector ran out of the bar and back into the truck. He twisted out of the parking lot and turned down the bumpy dirt road.

"What's going on?" Carlos asked. "Why we going to the brothel?"

"Hector?" Rico asked.

"Dad said we need to go to the new house," Hector called back. "Something's wrong with Clarita."

_**---KK---**_

Montoya stood frozen in the door frame. Inside, his brother sat by their mother's bedside, explaining what had happened and where they had been. When Clarita finally looked up, Montoya's hair stood on ends and his throat stung. Her eyes were sunk back into her head and the chunk missing from her lower lip was blistered and full of puss. Before he could think, he backed away from the door and into the hallway. He hadn't even turned before his brother's hand clasped around his wrist.

"Fran, we can't run away this time," Juárez said.

"She was gonna get better," Montoya whispered. "She was getting better, why did this happened?"

"Some shit went down while we were gone with Juan guys and some people passing through, she got caught right in the middle of it." Juárez said. "She took a bullet in the side. They tried to take care of it, but her immune system...she was too weak to fight infection after her sickness."

Juárez paused and cleared his throat.

"...It's blood poisoning. She doesn't have much time left," he whispered.

It took a moment to register and when it did, Montoya's entire body tensed.

"We should have been,"—

"Fran, don't," Juárez interrupted.

Montoya shook his head and sunk down to the floor.

"We should have been here," he mumbled.

"WE had no way of knowing, alright?" Juárez said. "We're lucky we got back in time to say goodbye."

When Montoya heard the words, he stood up. He glanced out the window to the grassy jungle that surrounded Esteban's unfinished house. He took a step down the hall, but his brother caught his wrist and yanked him away.

"You listen. You leave her without saying goodbye, you're gonna regret it for the rest of your life," Juárez said.

It didn't make him turn around, but it made him stop in his tracks. It froze him enough for Juárez to pull him into the bedroom of their dying mother.

Clarita looked up to him and smiled, and Montoya fought the tears that burned behind his eyes. She was so broken, so fragile, barley a ghost. He sat down on the bed next to her, and she reached out a hand to wipe the tears from his face. She chuckled to herself and gave his face a weak slap.

"Little bastard," she mumbled. "Messing around with the damn Cartel, who the fuck do you think you are?"

Montoya laughed.

"Juárez tell you it was all me?" he asked.

"He don't need to tell me, I'm not stupid," his mother laughed. "Whose idea was it to hop a ride south of Acuna?"

Montoya smiled as his mother shook him.

"You always had to go looking for trouble, you know?" she said, leaning back. "Always testing people, steeling from people, talking back even when you knew you were gonna get hell for it. Even when you were little, you never knew when to stop messing with shit."

Clarita reached for her sons' hand and traced the old iron scar across his fingers.

"I remember when you were just learning to walk, man. You were like the little kid from Old Yeller or something, always fucking around with vermin. You musta been four, I was sitting outside with the girls and Esteban, and you were out playing with something in the grass. When Esteban finally calls me to go check it out, I see it's a poisonous snake. A baby copperhead. I scream and run out there, not a scratch on you."

Clarita paused to laugh, And Montoya and his brother winced as she coughed blood. If their mother had noticed, she pretended she didn't.

"You musta been fucking around with that thing for hours," she mumbled, putting her arm around Montoya.

When Montoya could think of nothing to say, his mother turned her attention to her other son. They spoke in English, and although Montoya understood certain words well enough to piece the phrases together, he couldn't concentrate on their voices well enough to try. Instead, he focused on his mother. How even with her mutilated face, her skin drained of color... her ghost of a smile made her look beautiful. How her voice retained her attitude, even while speaking in a different language. How her fragile chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

Clarita began to tremble violently as she started coughing. When she didn't stop, Juárez sat up and put is hand on her back. Their mother whimpered and gripped her side, and Juárez squeezed her hand and ran out to go find help. Montoya was left alone with his dying mother, and all he wanted to do was run.

Between a pause, Clarita reached out and skimmed the bandages on her sons head.

"Did...did you get cut or something?" She asked.

"Rico shot me accidentally," Montoya said. "Bullet just skimmed me."

Clarita shook her head and brought her hands to her throat. Montoya was worried she was coughing, but instead, she pulled out the golden cross she always wore.

"Sometimes I think you got a guardian angel looking out for your ass or something," she mumbled, fumbling with the necklace.

Clarita finally unclasped the cross and pushed the necklace into her sons' hands.

"I'm always telling you how...how your father gave this to me, I think you should take it now," Clarita mumbled. "Show your angel you believe in him or something."

Montoya nodded and took the chain, clasping it behind his neck as his mother spit another drop of blood.

"Franny?" she mumbled.

"Yeah, mom?" Montoya mumbled, holding her.

"You gotta promise me something, before anyone else comes in," Clarita mumbled.

Montoya nodded.

"Promise me, one day, you'll get out of here?" Clarita whispered.

"...What?"

"I know everyone always says that Esteban's gonna live forever...but he ain't. And when he dies, I promise you, Acuna will burn. The new boys, aside from you and your cousins—they're dirty little fuckers. Doing whatever they want, murdering, raping women...promise me you'll never turn into that?" Clarita whispered.

"I promise," Montoya mumbled with a quivering voice. "I'll...I'll find my way out, one day."

Clarita smiled.

"One day you'll know when to go," she whispered. "Till then, you listen to your Aunt Rosa and her boy's whitey daddy, kay? Don't piss off Esteban. Your brother promised me he'd take care of you, so don't give him any shit either. Watch who you make trouble for."

Montoya laughed and his mother bumped her head against his.

"You know one day when you fuck with the wrong person your angel's just gonna stand back and laugh at you," Clarita chuckled. "Little trouble maker."

"Don't worry," Montoya sighed, tears running down his chin. "I always come out okay."

His mother stared into his tearful eyes as her own vision blurred. She unwrapped one of her hands from around him and reached out to touch his face.

"...I always wonder why that fuckin' snake never bit you," she whispered.

Clarita's chest fell, and her limp hand skimmed her sons' face for a moment before sliding off of him, down to the pillow. Montoya choked back a sob and trembled. With unfocused eyes, he reached around her lifeless body and held her tight.

That night, Montoya waited for Rico, Hector and Juárez to fall asleep before he snuck out into the jungle to mourn in peace. When he returned at daybreak, his brother was gone.

Montoya waited a week before he began screwing around with his brothers' first motorcycle. When he finally got it to work, Carlos and him rode it loudly down the long way to La Casa De La Cacto with the duffel bag of Coke, while Hector and Rico walked down the old dirt path to the back with the gun they stole from the cartel.

_**---KK---**_

**Location: ****(Memory Lane) Acuna, Mexico**

**Date: ****9/24/2024**

Montoya sat with his back against the white wall, his hand holding his eye to his face. His rapid breathing, the blood loss, it was getting to him. He found himself drifting off, staring out the window.

This was the place his mother died. This house.

None of the Acuna boys or Esteban's prostitutes knew who or where Esteban had gotten the money from, or if anyone did know, Esteban had made it clear not to let it slip. It was originally going to be able to house all of the old hookers and their sons, but plans changed and building gradually ceased after Clarita's death. Montoya lifted his head over to the door as he realized this was the very room it had happened. He shivered and quickly adverted his stare.

The door slammed open and jolted the bloody Acuna boy out of his trance. He jumped to his feet immediately, in case sitting counted as moving and the woman who had maimed him found it offensive.

Montoya tensed his body as she walked past him; he looked to the floor with his one working eye and tried not to move. The shadow of the girl passed him and just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the woman turned on him and pinned him against the wall. The Acuna boy tried to fight for it, but the girl dug her knee into his hip.

"Maybe I was aiming a little high when I pulled your eye out," the girl hissed. "_Don't move_."

Montoya whimpered, but obediently went limp.

For a moment, the woman regarded him, and Montoya could feel her venom flowing through her fingers. He opened his good eye a crack to look at her—her angry, bloody, beautiful face. She had something tattooed around her neck, but before Montoya could see it, the girl moved her hand and Montoya reflexively shut his eye.

He couldn't see what came next—but he felt it. She was unwrapping his fingers from his loose eye, taking it in her own. He let go obediently—one move and she would rip it right out. Montoya bit his tongue as he felt a cold sting splash into the empty socket, then the lids being pried open.

Suddenly, Montoya's sore, pulsating eye was being shoved back into his head, twisted in different directions. Gritting his teeth and closing his other eye as tight as he could, he tried to keep from screaming. It burned as his eye scraped against the wall of the socket, and Montoya wondered why it didn't just pop and leak burning hot blood over him. Even though his good eye was shut tight, he could see the blurs and shadows, and as the woman twisted her fingers, he could make out the blurs that were her face.

Montoya heard and felt a sickening squish before then girl moved her hand and let him go. He shut his eye immediately and collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily as his eye throbbed inside his head. Despite the ache, Montoya peeled his eyes open and looked up, capturing one last image before the world faded away.

_A baby copperhead. _

_**---KK---**_

Montoya pushed open the back door of La Casa De La Cacto and almost immediately, a puddle of blood washed out around his shoes. He didn't notice, and stepped right through it, over a dismembered leg, scanning a sea of dead and wounded.

"Francisco!!!"

Montoya looked up to see Hector running towards him.

"Hector," he said, shaking his head.

"Fran, holey shit!" Hector called. "We all thought you were a dead man!"

"We?" Montoya asked, glancing over at a bloody pile of corpses and body parts that had been covered with a tarp. "Does that mean…"

Hector grabbed Montoya by the shoulder.

"Yeah. Over there," he nodded.

Montoya nodded to his oldest cousin and walked to the other side of the bar, where the wounded lay scattered. He heard a yell, and turned to see Rico sitting next to a bloody Carlos.

"Mother-fucker," Rico said, standing up. "You're alive?"

"I guess," he mumbled.

"Lucky bastard, for a minute there I thought she pulled your eye out. We figured you'd be finished off for sure," Rico mumbled.

Rico lifted his arm to show a makeshift bandage. He had a pretty bad gash across his lip—if it had been lower, it would have slit his throat.

"Got sliced and my arm got stomped into glass. Woulda got shot if the barstool hadn't taken it, fuck man, thing hit me in the chest fucking hard. Still…we're all more alive then Juan or his brothers," Rico said, pointing to the bloody tarp.

Montoya shook his head and absentmindedly lifted his hand to his gold cross.

"And Carlos…?" he asked, staring down to him.

Rico grinned mischievously and dropped back down to Carlos, who had one hand wrapped in a bloody t-shirt, and the other wrapped around a half drained bottle.

"Fucken bitch," Carlos whimpered. "Fucken bitch cut my hand off..."

"Yeah," Rico said. "That's why when she sliced my face up, I got out of her way, stupid."

"Don't shit-talk me, you have any idea how much this shit hurts?!" Carlos cried.

"Yeah, I kinda do," Rico said, wiggling his stump fingers in Carlos's face.

"Incoming," Hector said, dropping a pile of bloody hands down next to them.

"How long has it been?" Montoya asked Hector.

"Probably too long to do anything about it," Hector whispered in English. "No way in hell Esteban's nurse or doctor can fix this. Time it would take us to drive to the city..."

Hector paused as Rico passed him a bloody hand. He put it down to Carlos's arm, flipped up the shirt, and grimaced before tossing the hand over to the tarp.

"Nope," he said.

"I meant…how long since she left?" Montoya asked.

Hector turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. He thought for a moment.

"Couple hours ago," he said.

"Which way?"

This time, Rico and Carlos looked up at Montoya too. They were staring at him, trying to see if what he was asking was what it sounded like. Montoya didn't want to prolong this, so he cut to the chase and turned to his youngest cousin.

"Rico, can I borrow your bike? Mines almost out of gas, I won't get far,"—

"Mother-fucker!" Carlos cut in.

"Franny," Hector said. "No."

"Rico," Montoya continued. "You know my brothers old bike is way better then yours. I'll let you use it until I come back…if I come ba,"—

"NO." Hector said.

"Um, Francisco," Rico said slowly. "You know how it looked like she ripped your eye out of your head when you tried hitting on her? I think that was a pretty good warning—NOT TO FUCKING MESS WITH HER."

"You're right, she did pull my eye out," Montoya said.

"I knew I turned around and saw your eye in a shot glass," Carlos mumbled, the blood loss clearly getting to hum. "Shit looked cool."

"But she put it back in," Montoya finished, pointing at his face. "I don't know why. She could have killed me. But I woke up on the floor with my eye back in my head."

His cousins exchanged glances with Carlos, who slumped back down to the pile of hands.

"There's nothing really left here." Montoya continued. "I still put up with it all, sometimes I'm laughing with everyone else, same as all you guys. But when Rina's sons and Juan's friends are shooting dogs, murdering people—murdering women, just for a fucking laugh…it makes me feel ashamed that I was born here, into this. That I was born at all. I always knew that Acuna was gonna rot one day, and I…I promised I would get out before it was too late for me. I think what just happened…I think all of that was a sign."

"Some chick pulls out your eye and you take that for a sign?" Carlos mumbled.

"She could have killed me, but she didn't. She didn't hesitate to kill anyone else, but she didn't kill me." Montoya said.

"So you gonna let her finish the job?" Rico asked. "Or should I go tell Esteban and let him do it for her?"

Rico laughed and even Carlos managed a chuckle.

"I already talked to Esteban. I asked him about her," Montoya said.

Carlos began coughing on his laughter and Hector dropped the hand he had been examining.

"What did he say?" Hector asked.

"He said I was a crazy bastard and that she was gonna kill me and that if I left now I might be able to catch her," Montoya said, grinning slightly.

Rico and Carlos looked back between Hector and Montoya. Waiting.

"She took the back-road out, Gotta be heading for Mexico City," Hector said. "Don't know how you expect to find her."

"Don't worry, I always get lucky," Montoya said, hugging his two cousins goodbye. "I'll come back and visit one day."

"Yeah, well maybe we'll find you." Rico said.

"Carlos?" Montoya asked, looking down to him.

Carlos rolled his eyes up and held out his only hand to him.

"I hope she kicks your ass, man," He said.

Montoya stood up.

"Wait," Rico said, fishing through his pockets. "Lemme give you my keys…"

"Already got 'em," Montoya said, turning and walking past the bar. He stepped over the blood and bodies, the broken bottles, the guitar case he took from the mariachi.

_On second thought…_

He turned around and grabbed the guitar case, slinging it over his shoulder. It was useless and unnecessary, but he couldn't leave without taking something, anything with him. He cast one last glance at the bloody bar before running out the doors.

Two hours after Francisco Montoya left Acuna, a black jaguar pulled into the parking lot of the bar.

_**---KK---**_

**Location: ****Vermont, USA**

**Date: ****October 10th, 2024**

The door slammed open and Montoya bolted upright, gasping. Between his blurred vision and the darkness, he could barely make out the figure in the doorway.

"Nikki?!" Montoya whispered.

The figure stepped into the doorway and pointed at itself.

"Ricky," the figure said.

Ricky flicked on the lights and Montoya brought his hands to his eyes. It burned and he blinked as Ricky walked into the room, arms full. Montoya couldn't be sure, but it looked like he was holding Nikki's daggers.

"Did you find her?" he asked Ricky.

"No," Ricky said, walking towards the bed. "But I haven't looked yet. I did find her sai swords on the highway."

Montoya flared and peeled his hands off of his eyes to glair. He could faintly make out Ricky putting down some suitcases and sipping a drink in his hand.

"Then what the fuck have you been,"—

"Made some phone calls, acquired some documents, pissed off some guys in suits. Also went to the seven eleven to get a slurpee. Really long lines this time of night."

Ricky watched Montoya as he began to shake with anger.

"Why bother coming back here?!" Montoya spat.

"Drop some stuff off, see if she came back on her own. Brought some medicine for you," Ricky called, sifting through one of his bigger suitcases.

Montoya almost screamed before realizing what Ricky had said.

"What?" he asked.

"Nikki mentioned she pulled your eye out and popped it back in by herself," Ricky said, pulling out a bag of ointments and little bottles. "Getting socked while it's still healing, you could lose it."

Montoya stared at Ricky, who motioned for him to move closer.

"C'mon," he said. "Scoot up."

Montoya hesitated for a moment before standing up and walking over to Ricky.

"You been putting anything on that eye of yours?" Ricky asked as Montoya sat down.

"Nikki bought me some drops at the drugstore," Montoya mumbled.

Ricky laughed to himself as the Acuna Boy laid down. The over the counter stuff was like water-downed Gatorade compared to what he was packing. Montoya clutched onto the bed and winced as Ricky worked open his swollen-shut eye to get some drops into it.

"Never had my eye pulled out before," Ricky commented, parting the lids. "I have had pins stuck in em, but it wasn't really that deep. Got stabbed once, but the blade went in flat-side, eye got pushed right outa the way."

Ricky paused as he saw how red the eye was—not a speck of white. He let the drops fall in and watched as the blood overflowed out onto the eyelids.

"How's your vision?" Ricky asked.

Montoya was quiet for a moment.

"I...haven't been able to see color so good in this eye," he admitted.

"Hmm. Well, this might help with that," Ricky said. "Back of the heads what you gotta be worried about, that's where your vision gets put together. Got hit on there once, I was blind for almost two months."

The boy said nothing, and Ricky sighed and shifted as he worked on draining the blood away. Comparing scars of the trade was Ricky's favorite way of making small talk, and it was almost an insult to his pride when it didn't impress people. He was about to hike up his pant leg and show the Acuna Boy the scars from when he had his leg reattached, but he decided against it.

"What if she hurts herself?" Francisco said, interrupting the silence.

"Nikki? She'll be fine," Ricky said, sweeping the growing pile of bloody swabs and cotton into the trash. "I hope. Nikki handles physical pain exceptionally well. She's pretty numb to most of it, doesn't complain for the rest of it, and she's a fast healer to top it."

Ricky paused as he grabbed a new paper towel and dabbed it into some antiseptic.

"It's what's inside her that she was never good at," Ricky said.

"Because of what happened to her mother?" Montoya ask.

Ricky shook his head.

"Runs way deeper than that, man," he said. "Nikki got into this whole game 'cuz she convinced herself she'd lost everything—this was all she had. I think way in the back of her thick head, she doesn't like what she's turned into—not because she ain't got the stomach for killing, she's a natural at that…but because she knew she coulda been something else. Something…not a monster. You know what I'm getting at?"

Montoya nodded, and Ricky continued.

"She's a smart girl, and even though she built her life up on revenge…she's not a bad person. Not like me. I think this whole business with Pete, it's like she got a glimpse of a world where she didn't have to live for revenge. A world where she could just live for herself and nobody else—no revenge, no guilt, none of it. Somebody takes you away from a place like that…I'd imagine it hurts pretty fucking bad."

Montoya nodded. Ricky motioned for him to sit up and put a flat medical pad over the boy's eye and taped it into place with gauze.

"You'll need to keep the eye covered for a while. When it stops bleeding, there's a pretty pimping eye patch in the bag,"—

"Do you know who it was?" Montoya asked.

"Hmmm?"

"The girl I saw…she killed Pete…does she have anything to do with the woman Nikki is looking for?"

"No way to say for sure, but my guess is yes. Whoever the girl is, she's been shadowing Nikki from the beginning. She'd have to be to clear the trail she's been blazing," Ricky mumbled absent-mindedly.

"…Clear the trail?" Montoya asked.

Ricky widened his eyes as he realized what he let slip.

"_Shit_," Ricky mumbled.

"What is it?" Montoya asked.

"Mmmm…whoever is following Nikki, they've been clearing the trail she left. They didn't kill the main guy, Hanzo, because that would be a big tip off to what they're doing, but the others…I mean, Sofie Fatale had a lot of people who wanted her ventilated, and…Esteban was on his death bed…"

"They killed Esteban?" Montoya asked, standing up.

Ricky nodded.

"They, um...they killed the rest of the Acuna boys, too," Ricky added uncomfortably. "The ones Nikki left alive. And the hookers that had worked for Esteban. Anyone who may have seen Nikki in the bar. "

The words stood in the air, ugly and heavy and unbearable. Montoya shook his head.

"I was gonna wait to tell Nikki, I thought it might be better getting it from her then from a stranger," Ricky said, standing up. "Will you be all right?"

Montoya nodded hollowly.

"Are you going to go look for Nikki now?" Montoya asked.

Ricky stared at him and wondered how much comfort a murderer could provide for a kid who just lost everyone he ever knew. It probably wasn't a lot, but he still hesitated to leave.

"You aren't gonna jump off the balcony too, are you?" Ricky asked.

Montoya shook his head.

"There was nothing in Acuna for me, anyway," he mumbled as his throat closed up. "All my family either died or left me."

Ricky didn't buy it, but he took the hint to get gone.

"I'll leave the pain killers on the table, take one or you won't wake up in the morning. Oh, also—can you make sure Nikki gets these?"

Ricky reached into his duffle bag and pulled out the broadswords he had snagged from Pete's apartment.

"Managed to grab these before I left Pete's." he said.

Montoya nodded and took the sheathed swords from Ricky. He flipped them back and forth in his hands while Pete walked out and quietly shut the door behind him.

Francisco Montoya, the youngest of the Acuna Boys and the only one left alive, placed one sword to the side of him and unsheathed the other. The blade was polished and as reflective as a mirror—and in it he saw his mangled face, the tears dripping down the fresh dressing—the ones from his bad eye soaked through the bandaged and came out red and yellow. He gripped the blade with his hand and squeezed, letting it slice through his palm.

He never had much respect for Acuna, let alone the rest of the boys. After his mothers' death and his brothers' departure, he thought that when the time came to break ties, it would be simple. And it had been. But this, this was too much.

Rico. Hector. Carlos. Esteban. His Aunt Rosa and probably her Gringo husband too, he had been reading the paper in the bar when they came in. Everyone.

The Acuna boy watched his blood drip down the blade of the sword, but it did little to stop the sting he felt. There was no one to come and bring him home now, no one to tell him he was gonna be okay by himself, no one to save him. This time, it was just him and he was all alone.

He sat awake on the bed for hours, staring into his reflection. He drifted off to the forest that surrounded Acuna, the jungle he ran off to whenever he wanted to feel numb. In his memory the trees bashed together and the wind howled loudly against his ears and there was no pain that couldn't be drowned out by the cold.

And when the door opened as Nikki walked in, he heard nothing over the inferno that raged on within his mind.

* * *

AND DONE.

The universe really did not want this chapter to be finished. First I had school work, in my spare time I had countless plot trouble, my home computer died twice, and in the end, it was all about patching the pieces of Montoya's life together properly. I knew I needed to address Montoya's grief while it was still fresh, and I'm happy I got the chance to finally give him some back-story and show why he was so determined to follow Nikki. I almost DID NOT include the scene with the boy's looking for Carlos's hand it felt so ridiculous, but I couldn't help it.

And yes, I realize that I've become a Coheed and Cambria quote whore. I feel like there's something wrong with that.

Well, a lot has happened since I last posted, so I'll bring everyone up to speed: It's my second semester at University and at the dorms. As for the graphic novel I was planning on pitching around—That's not gonna happen anytime soon. I realized quickly that the concepts I've planned are WAY too complex for me to even attempt to write/draw anytime soon. Until I do, the story is under lock and bolt. That's not to say I won't be trying to develop and publish some of my other (less complicated) stories—I've got several novel and graphic novel ideas I'm working on now. I am going to start posting pictures for Kill Kiddo on my DeviantArt account, and I've begun using my account on FictionPress. My Night Child saga is a supernatural drama that includes paranormal bounty hunters, rock music, blood, sexy stuff, a strong female lead who Nikki would get along with great, and one saucy zombie. Links on my profile if anyone's interested.

As always, I can only check this stuff so many times before I think it's too cheesy and should never reach the light of day, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes, I'll correct later. I promise the next chapter will be back to normal--WE GET TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO ELLE AND THE NERD INSIDE ME CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE IT.

It's good to be back to my baby. Thanks to all of you who are still reading!!!! (Please review if you exist!!!! PLEASE!!!)

Write on!


	18. The Mountain Snakes' Escape: Part I

Authors Note: May need to refer back to Chapters 16 and 11. Rest of note saved for end.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kill Bill.

* * *

Kill Kiddo: Chapter 18

**Location****: Vermont, USA**

**Date:**** October 11th, 2024**

As I open the door, the first thing I see is Montoya sitting on the edge of the bed, my broadswords in hand. His face is a swollen mess, the worst of it hidden behind strips of white bandages. He's so adsorbed in the cloudy silver of the swords, he hasn't notice the door open. He looks drained. Empty. A shell. He twists the blade shallowly through air, watching the metal vibrate from the handle.

I was already dreading this. Coming back, having to face him after what I did. I was hoping to high heaven he would be asleep.

_Well, shit. Took me hours to work up the guts to come back here…no turning around now._

I move out of the door frame and he turns his head up at me, clearly startled but smiling. He lifts a hand up gingerly and wipes his only exposed eye—his other_'s covered in yellow-red stained gauze. _

I stare down at the Broadswords and see a trickle of blood drip down the serrated edge of one. He follows my gaze down and at once, his eye goes wide. He stands up and drops the swords instantly, wincing as they accidentally clatter to the floor. I take a step forward and watch him scramble away from them, hands up.

"I—I wasn't...Ricky, he left them here for you, I was just...",

I hold up my hand to silence him, and he lowers his face, shaking. It's then I see how red his good eye is.

_How broken he truly is._

"Hey," I whisper, and Montoya looks up at me, trying to hold back tears.

"I…I didn't…I didn't steal them, Ricky…he…,"—

"It's fine," I say. I take another step closer to him. He flinches, draws back. I step away.

"Just…don't even worry about it," I mumble, sitting down on the bed opposite him.

Montoya nods before picking up the swords and sitting back down.

"Ricky found you?" he asks, fumbling to re-sheath the swords.

"Yeah. He found me," I say.

Montoya looks up at me.

"Did he tell you what he found out? About the girl?" he asks nervously.

"Yeah," I nod. "He took off a while ago, just checking one last thing. We're gonna meet up with him soon."

We sit in silence. Montoya gets up and puts the broadswords on my bed after a while, but he doesn't say a word or try to look at me.

"Would it mean anything if I said I was sorry?" I ask him, looking at the floor.

"Sorry?" Montoya asks, snapping his head up.

I nod.

"It…would mean a lot. But you don't have to say sorry," he shrugs, smiling. "You were upset…"

"…I am sorry, though." I say, and for a moment I see something catch in Montoya's eye and he looks away.

"Montoya?" I ask.

I try to reach out for him, but in the next instant, a cell phone is vibrating from the bed-side table and Montoya is on his feet fast to grab it and hand it to me. I hesitantly take the phone from his shaking hand.

"…Hey, Ricky," I say. "Where do you want to meet?"

_**-KK-**_

_Date: April 19th, 2004_

**Elle Driver lay motionless on the floor of Budd's bathroom, draped over a pile of crumbled plaster and broken glass. Her blood dotted the demolished room: lay in puddles beneath her, splattered across the torn walls. The broken pipe from the sink dripped water across the floor, and the flies that had gathered around the putrid blood and tissue flew off as the water level rose slowly. **

**Somewhere within the relative silence of Budd's camper, a door slammed open and shut in the wind. **

**Elle shot up immediately. **

"**Bitch…" she mumbled, coughing on her bloody, dry mouth. The door slammed again, and this time, Elle clawed her way down the pile of rubble. **

"**Fucking…bitch…come out!" she cried weakly, sinking to the floor. The pain that shot through her head made her gag—the hallow, pulsating ache cut through her consciousness immediately, threatening to send her back into the dark. She was dizzy, disoriented, blind and weak. The door rattled on, and from deep within her delirium, she realized it must only be the wind.**

_**Of course it was the wind, you stupid bitch. Beatrix would be long gone by now.**_

**Nauseated and light headed, she coughed and put her hands to the floor. She felt the water immediately, and followed the flow to the broken pipe. The sink had been pulled from the wall and sat upside-down, and she used it to push herself up to get to the source of water. **

**Couldn't see, couldn't think, she could barely breathe. Elle tried to shut out the pain from within her throbbing head, tried washing it away. The water stung the cuts on her face and burned her hoarse throat, but anything to distract her from her empty, oozing eye socket was welcome. She needed to clear her mind. She needed to think. She needed to remember everything.**

**Oh, fucking hell.**

_**The black mamba was still in the camper. **_

"_**Mother-fucker…"**_

**Elle backed up quickly and stumbled into the pile of rubble—the most likely place for the snake to go was to the source of water. She stood up and gripped for the wall, slowly. Catching her balance, she broke through the buzzing pain in her mind. She stopped moving, lowered her breath, and stood still. **

**She could hear the water dripping. Could hear the flies buzzing, the door slamming open and close in the wind.**

_**That was it. The door. Get to the door.**_

**Elle reached one hand out of the bathroom doorframe, pulling herself into the hallway. She treaded softly, feeling ahead of her with her boot. When her foot struck something loose and long in the carpet, she gasped and doubled back on reflex. She stood still, but heard nothing. Cautiously, she reached her foot out and pushed. She bent down and grabbed for it, slicing her fingers open on cold metal. She bit her lip and swore beneath her breath. **

_**Budd's Hanzo sword. **_**It had to be. **

**Elle swept her hand across the flat of the blade until her fingers wrapped around the handle. Lifting the sword, she put it to the ground, inching it in front of her as she limped on. She gagged on a sour odor as she reached for the door, and doubled back as something hissed at her feet.**

"**FUCK!" she yelled, swiping the sword ahead of her and swinging her arms. Her hand skimmed something at knee length, but before she could figure out what the rough cloth was, the black mamba hissed in warning again, this time much, much closer. Elle lunged away, knocking into a table before crashing into the floor of the kitchen.**

"**Shit, shit, shit…" Elle mumbled, rubbing her shoulder. She yanked herself behind the table of Budd's kitchen and pulled in her legs. **

"**Oh, God," she mumbled, drawing her hands to her face.**

**The sour, rotting smell—the corpse of Bill's disposed brother reeked. **

"**Mother-fucker," she whispered. "Gross." **

**Her eye-socket was already throbbing again, and the inside of her mind was churning. Budd's body was already rank—how long had she been laying there? How many days had passed?**

_**Was she too late to warn Bill? **_

**Elle reached down and yanked her phone out of her pocket—the sinking feeling already hitting her. It had definitely been damaged in the fight, she could feel a long crack up the side of it. She opened it and felt it fall into two pieces in her hands. **

_**Useless.**_

**Elle slumped against the fridge, trudging through her thoughts. She wouldn't last long here, not with the blood loss and the snake. She flexed her fingers, realizing the thing she had touched by the door—her suitcase full of cash.**

_**Of course. Stupid, fucking bitch, the money inside was laced with pheromone—a cheap assurance the black mamba would strike when Budd disturbed it. Of course the snake would go straight for the bag. **_

**Shit. Now the fucking little snake was blocking her only way out. **

**Elle tightened her grip around Budd's Hanzo sword. She was exhausted. So exhausted, so drained. She could feel the tears pooling out of her ducts into her hallow socket, burning their way in and out of her head. Elle lowered herself to the ground and whimpered. This was as pathetic as pathetic got. The lowest of low. **

_**This was the worst way to have to go,**_** Elle thought as she groaned, cradling the Hanzo sword Bill gave to his brother. She whimpered to herself, remembering the discontent in Bill's voice over the phone when he said his brother had pawned it. **

**Budd's sword.**

_**Her sword. **_

_**Well, at least until I die, **_**Elle thought bitterly, her lucidity starting to crumble.**

**In the relative silence of Budd's camper, a swarm raised inside Elle's mind—the pooling information of her remaining senses. She breathed through her mouth to keep from gagging on the scent of Budd's rotting body and the blood that lingered throughout the room. She could hear the water still draining from the bathroom. The flies collecting around Budd's body. The door shutting open and close, as if it were taunting her. **

_**Stupid fucking door…**_

**As Elle pressed her ear to the ground, she suddenly became aware of another sound. Something faint, something only made apparent through the vibration that was being cut into the air. **

**She reached forward, her hand skimming Budd's swollen, bloated face. Elle grimaced, but didn't stop. She held her breath and felt down the length of Budd's body till she wrapped her fingers around his belt. She prodded her hand into his pocket and pulled out his vibrating cell phone. **

**Elle's fingers shook as she flipped open the phone and brought it to her lips. **

"…**Hello…?" she whispered as the door flew open. **

_**-KK-**_

Montoya pushes the door open and we both walk in to the restaurant. It's one of those bar-arcade, Dave and Busters type place, but in the middle of the day, we're one of the few people here. Ricky waves over from his booth.

He smiles at me, and for a moment, I almost feel like crying again. Like wrapping my arms around him and holding on to him, the fucking bastard.

But that's over now—time to put my face back on. Nothing's different now, not me, not Ricky, not anything. I collect myself by the time we get to him.

"I'll never understand you," I say as I sit down. "Why you insist on meeting in public places."

"There ain't anybody here!" Ricky protests.

"So what's the point? If there isn't any devil to dance with—why even bother with it?" I ask, gesturing around.

"Nikki, Baby, you know I conduct nearly all of my business affairs in public," he says, before adding with a sly wink, "Well, nearly all of them. I am, in fact, notorious for it. People don't bother planting bugs or tapping a line when I'm just sitting here, blurting out my shit like some kind of douche-bag."

Ridiculous, nonsensical reasoning, but I just shrug as Montoya sits down next to me.

"Eye better?" Ricky asks Montoya.

Montoya shot a quick glance at me before nodding to Ricky. I push my menu out in front of him.

"Go ahead and order what you want," I mumble to Montoya. "Place shouldn't even be open this time of day."

"I paid them to open a few hours early," Ricky explains. "Know why?"

"Why?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"Because I fucking deserve a drink, that's why," Ricky says, winking at me.

I stare blankly at him, trying to mask my anticipation. I yawn.

"Oh really?" I ask.

"Oh Nikki, Nikki…I deserve to get plastered. I deserve a bottle of tequila licked off me while I lay there ecstasy and let you do all the work."

Montoya laughs lightly as Ricky pulls out his suitcase.

"Pulled every string I have within the FBI, now I owe a few guys there some favors. Under an alias, of course. I even had a very old, very annoying ex stripper flown out from the south-west JUST so I could clarify a few theories—she's now spending her expense paid trip in Cape Cod, so you know," Ricky says, putting up his finger. "I got her dinner bill last night, lady is eating her weight in lobster. Damn. Aha, here it is…"

Ricky held up a file.

"Okay Nikki, you ready for me to paint you a picture?" he asks.

I lean back in my seat.

"Paint away," I say.

_**-KK-**_

_Club-My-Oh-My, 2004_

**Larry Gomez hung up the phone and stood up, and Lucky dropped the rolled up dollar bill onto coke covered mirror.**

"**Mother-fucking cunt," Larry mumbled, standing up.**

"**JAY? You still got that big thing O' gas in the back of your trunk?" Larry yelled.**

"**Yeah? Why?" Jay called back.**

"**I'm barrowing it," Larry said, walking out into the empty bar. **

**Lucky frowned and blinked before she got up after him.**

"…**Where you going?" she asked.**

"**You finally get a hold of Budd?" Rocket called from behind the pool table.**

"**Nope," Larry said.**

"**Well shit Larry, I gotta piss," she huffed. "Can't **_**you**_** fix the john?"**

"**Make Jay fix it," Larry said. "I got shit to do, woman. Be back in forty."**

"**Larry, wait…" Lucky asked.**

_**God, she was fucked up. **_

"**You wanna talk baby? Talk and walk, talk and walk," Larry said, pointing out the door.**

**Lucky stared at the door for a moment while Rocket walked up behind her. **

"**You're wasting your time, sugar," Rocket whispered before turning back to the bar.**

**Lucky laced up her jacket before following Larry outside. **

"**Where…where ya going?" Lucky asked, rubbing her nose.**

"**Help out some bitch knows Budd," he said, pulling the container of gas out Jay's truck and putting it in the back of his Ranchero. **

"…**The bouncer?" **

"**No, the plumber—of course the fucking bouncer," Larry said. "Get outta the way, I gotta pull out."**

"**Wait." Lucky said.**

"**What?" Larry asked, throwing his hands out.**

"…**Can I come with you?" **

"**What? No you can't come with me, why the fuck you wanna come with me?" Larry asked.**

**Lucky reached her fingers up and rubbed her nose again.**

"**I…I'm kinda fucked up," she admitted as Larry got into the car. "I…I could really use some air. It's…it's too still here."**

**Larry sighed to himself as he shut the door.**

"**Shit, fine," he mumbled, unlocking the passenger's side. "Get in, lightweight."**

**Lucky got in and Larry shifted the car into gear. **

**The sun was setting, but the air hung hot and heavy as Larry's Ranchero rattled down the road. The warm air blew across Lucky's face, and she fought the urge to ask Larry to speed up so the air would feel colder. Instead, she undid her jacket and took it off, tapping her leg the entire time. **

"**Where we going again?" she asked.**

"**I told you," Larry said, rolling his eyes. "Some bitch who's staying at Budd's picked up his phone. Says he ditched her this morning and she's stuck out the middle o' nowhere, her cars outta gas." **

"**Nice of you," Lucky mumbled.**

"**Yeah, well," he shrugged. "She's paying for it." **

_**She had offer to pay him a shit ton more than the gas and trouble was worth, actually. She had sounded pretty screwed though, and Larry just hoped the bitch wasn't full of it. **_

**They carried on in silence out into the middle of nowhere. When Larry saw the mile-marker the girl described, he turned off the road and into the desert. **

"**The bouncer lives in the desert?" Lucky asked, jittering. **

"**Goddamn red necks…" Larry mumbled as they pulled up at what had to be Budd's camper. "Oh I don't fucking believe this…" **

"**What?" Lucky asked.**

"**Budd's fucking truck is right here," Larry yelled. **

"**Think he came back while we drove over here?" **

"**I don't think a fucking thing, I drove all the way out here and I'm getting paid for it," Larry said, getting out of the car.**

"**You want me to wait in the car?" Lucky asked.**

**Larry brought his hand to his face. **_**Jeeze, this bitch was annoying him. **_

"**Yes, I want you to sit and wait in the car," he said as he walked to the door. It was wide open.**

"**Budd, you fucking trailer-trash," Larry yelled in. **

_**God, it smelled like ass in here. **_

"**Pitch-fucking black," he mumbled, stepping over a suitcase and flicking the light switch. It looked like a tornado touched down.**

"**Hey, Budd, you throwing a party or something?" Larry called. "Lady, anyone in here?"  
**

**Larry stopped talking as he glanced down into the kitchen. **

"**HOLEY FUCKING SHIT!" he yelled.**

**Laying face down on the floor of the kitchen was Budd. Larry took a step towards him, but doubled back when he realized that was the source of the smell.**

"**Fucking Christ…" Larry mumbled. "Oh…goddamn it."**

"**Larry?" Lucky called from the door-frame. "I can hear you yelling, what's … what's going on?" **

**Larry spun around.**

"**Lucky, shit, I told you to wait in the car. Don't come in here,"—**

**He was cut off immediately as Lucky let out a gut wrenching scream. She stomped her leg and screamed again before falling on her ass outside the camper.**

"**Shit," Larry said, running out to grab her. "What happened?" **

"**Something bit me. A snake. There was a snake…"**

**Larry jumped back to look at the doorframe.**

"**It fell outside with me," she mumbled. "It bit me…"**

"**C'mon, c'mon," Larry said, lifting her up and pulling her inside the camper.**

"**Holey shit, is that the bouncer?" Lucky asked.**

**Larry dropped Lucky down on the bed.**

"**Where'd the fucking thing bite you?" he asked.**

"**It…it bit me two times on my leg before I fell out…I…I think it slid under me when I landed… I felt it bite me on my back…" she mumbled. **

**Larry turned her around and pulled up her shirt. It wasn't hard to miss the bite—it was already swollen and purple at her side.**

"**You see what kinda snake it was?" he asked.**

**Lucky shook her head, her eyes tearing.**

"**Man…that fucking hurts…" she whimpered.**

**Larry stood up, bringing his hands to his head again. **_**Shit**_**. On one side of him there was a dead body, on the other there was a coked-out stripper got bit by god knows what.**

"**Why does all the fucking shit happen to me…" Larry mumbled. **

_**What was he supposed to do? If he took her to a hospital, they would both end up in jail. And shit, what the hell was he gonna say about the dead fucking bouncer? **_

**Before he could ponder his situation any further, a steel blade flew out of nowhere and an arm wrapped around his neck.**

_**-KK-**_

I don't need to wait for Ricky to stop talking; I feel that shift in the air as someone walks up behind me. I spin around.

"Boo," Lolita says. Montoya jumps and curses in Spanish before turning around and noticing her.

Lolita giggles, a shear frightening sight. She's dressed herself in some clownish, glittery attire—sparkling gold jacket with tails, vertically stripped shorts with a high waistband, and a big red bow-tie. I only assume it's from some movie or show I've never seen.

"The HELL do you want?" I ask.

Lolita smiles and says nothing, just wiggles a golden top hot in her hands and sways easily across the floor. I look down and realize she's still wearing her blood stained roller-skates from yesterday's Miho costume.

_Oh, whatever_. I am in no mood to put up with her right now, least of all after the bloody show she put on in front of Pete. I shoot Ricky a glance and he finishes sipping his drink.

"Watcha need, Lolita?" Ricky asks.

"I ran out of money for the arcade," Lolita says, pulling her big red lip into a pout.

"Didn't I give you a few hundreds?" he asks.

"If I get seven hundred more tickets, I can get the BIG Hello Kitty," Lolita pleads, pressing her hands together.

Ricky reaches into his wallet, pulls out a few bills and passes them over to her. Lolita beams and sticks them in her hat before blowing Ricky a kiss.

"Thank you, Daddy," she says before putting her hat on and skating off.

I shake my head and Montoya stares at her in disbelief.

"There is something very strange about that girl…" Montoya mumbles, turning back to his cheeseburger.

"You can say that again," I say.

I glance over at Ricky.

"Well?" I ask.

"Huh?" he gaps, his mouth full of food.

I stare blankly at him for a moment before he shakes his head.

"Oh! Shit, yeah…just lost my train of thought. Where was I?" he asks, swallowing.

"Elle just got Budd's boss at knife-point," I say.

Ricky snaps his fingers.

"Right."

_**-KK-**_

"**Mother…fucking…bitch…" Larry barked at the woman holding him at knifepoint.**

…_**Was that a fucking sword? **_

"**Get the FUCK off me!" he yelled.**

**He struggled against her, and she pressed the blade into his neck again. It wasn't hard enough to slit his throat, but her grip was firm enough to draw blood.**

_**Okay, so she was strong**_**. Strong enough to get him in a chokehold, strong enough to kill his fucking bouncer. He didn't want to test her by pushing back against her blade.**

"**Okay," Larry mumbled. "Okay, fuck I give…"**

"**The snake's gone?" she rasped into his ear.**

"**Yes, the snakes fucking gone," he said. "Who the hell are you?"**

"**You're Larry Gomez? Budd's boss?" the woman demanded. **

"**What the fuck do you want?" he gagged.**

"**Larry…" Lucky mumbled, her body starting to twitch. **

"**Your friend there got bit on her back?" Elle asked, the hostility in her voice faltering. **

"**Yes, yeah, shit, she got bit on her side," Larry coughed. "Will you fucking let go of me, I can't breath!" **

**Elle loosened her grip, and Larry immediately tried to push her back. Elle kicked him in the back of the leg and sank him down to his knees.**

"**None of that," she hissed. **

"**Jesus Christ, you bitch," Larry moaned in agony.**

"**I'll kick you higher next time," Elle warned, pushing her boot between his legs. **

"**Look, what the hell do you want me to do? She's gonna die I don't figure something out,"—**

"**She's already dead," Elle said.**

"**What?" he whispered.**

"**She got bit on the torso; she's within twenty," said Elle. "Nothing you can do for her." **

"**How the fuck do you,"—**

"**Go ahead. Check her if you don't believe me," Elle said, yanking Larry up. **

**Larry hung in the air for a moment and Elle prodded him with her knee. He stepped forward, and the woman behind him took a faltering, unsure step behind him. Larry realized that there was something wrong with the way she was clinging to him for support, letting him lead her. He considered trying to throw her off him again—but shit, that bitch could **_**kick**_**.**

**Larry approached Lucky, her sweaty, twitching, swollen body. Her eyes were closed and she was mumbling incoherently—she had clearly lost lucidity. Larry reached down to feel her pulse hammering fast against her wrist.**

_**Way, way too fast.**_

"**Oh…fuck me," Larry said. **

"**You can say that twice," Elle whispered from behind him.**

**Larry stood there. **_**Shit. Shittttt**_**. Like he wasn't in deep enough with the cops—there was no way he could get out of this. Not with all the shit in Lucky's system. He'd definitely go to court over this, definitely lose My-Oh-My trying to pay the legal fees. With the little money the strip club was pulling in, he'd probably have to sell the car wash, too. **

**Larry looked down at the sword blade and stopped thinking. Oh, right. **_**You fucking asshole, like you're gonna make it out of this in one piece. Whatever happens, you're screwed. **_

"**Look, bitch, are you gonna kill me or what?" Larry asked finally.**

**The woman was silent.**

"**Hey, there's one going on two dead bodies in this damn trailer, you plan on making it three or what?" Larry demanded.**

"**Shut up," Elle said. **

"**Well then, what the fuck do you want me to do?" Larry yelled.**

**Elle kicked him again. **

"**I said SHUT UP. I'm trying to think," Elle mumbled.**

**They stood in silence for a few minutes. Larry's head was fucking killing him—the smell in the trailer was beyond disgusting, and Lucky was beginning to hyperventilate. There was a bitch holding a fucking sword to his neck and there were such things as snakes that could kill you in twenty minutes, apparently. **

"**Okay," Elle said, nodding to herself. "Lemme ask you something, Larry. You want to live?" **

**Elle dug the sword into his neck and he gasped.**

"**Yes **_**please**_**," he spat.**

"**And you don't want to get the police involved, do you?" she asked, adopting a faux sweet tone. **

"**No.…no fucking cops, are you kidding me?" he asked.**

"**Well Larry, I have a proposal for you. I am going to help you get rid of your soon to be dead body. I will compensate you generously for it. All you gotta do is do what I say. Or I could just slit your throat…you hearing me?" Elle asked.**

**Larry nodded, and Elle unclasped her fist and opened her palm.**

"**Car keys," she barked.**

"**What?" Larry asked.**

"**I'm not letting you go until you drop your keys," Elle said.**

_**Fucking bitch…**_

**Larry dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He reached up and dropped them into her hand.**

"**Okay, now. You see a red suitcase by the door?" **

"**I thought you were gonna let go,"—**

"**A RED SUITCASE, Larry," Elle said. **

**Larry turned around slowly.**

"**Yeah, I see it," he whispered.**

"**We are going to walk over there, pick it up, and pull it away from the door. Go," Elle said, pushing him forward again.**

**The two of them walked awkwardly to the door, and Larry reached down to yank the suitcase across the floor. When they got to the middle of the room, Elle pushed him down and felt for the handle, wrapping her fingers around it while keeping the sword pressed firmly to Larry's neck.**

"**Open it, not all the way," she said.**

**Larry gingerly reached down and unzipped the suitcase, half expecting it to be filled with fucking snakes or some shit. When he reached his hand inside and pulled out a stack of hundreds, his jaw dropped.**

"**Holey shit," he mumbled. **

"**That's right," Elle said, dropping her hand down to Larry's and zipping the suitcase back up. "There is a million dollars in folding cash inside this suitcase. I have a fifty plus times that in just one of my many bank accounts. You do what I say, all of it's yours. The suitcase now and whatever you want later."**

"**Jesus Christ," Larry mumbled.**

"**You do what I say, you get the money and I help you make your dead body go away," Elle repeated. "You cross me—try to grab the suitcase and run,"—**

"**I'm not that stupid," Larry mumbled.**

"**Good, 'cuz I'm not letting go of the money and you'd lose your hand before you even touched it. Now you say screw the money and try running away on foot…"**

"**And leave my truck and a dead stripper who works for me at a crime scene?" Larry asked, exasperated. "Who do you know who is that fucking dumb?"**

**Elle whistled, impressed. **

"**Very good," she said.**

"**Yeah, well." He shrugged. "You gonna let me go or not?" **

"**Turn around and look at me." Elle said, loosening the sword back and standing up. **

**Larry stepped up with Elle and slowly turned his feet around until he came face to face with her. She pressed the flat of the blade to the back of his neck when she heard him gasp.**

"**Mother of…you gotta be fucking kidding me…" he said.**

**Elle nodded.**

"**Exactly," she said simply. **

**Larry gapped in horror, trying not to gag. Running a strip joint and several other unsavory businesses, he'd seen his fair share of sleazy shit. But staring into the hallow, bloody, pus filled eye-socket of a woman who's had one eye liberated and a patch on her other?**

**That topped his list. **

"**I can't see what you're doing," Elle said, popping his keys in her pocket with one hand. "So you gotta make sure you're doing exactly what I say, or else we're both fucked. Don't think 'cuz I'm blind you can back out on our deal or try to pull one over on me, same rules apply. You've already seen how good I work with just my hearing and reflexes. And you really don't want to see how much better I can get when I get pissed."**

"**You look pretty pissed now, Lady," Larry observed.**

"**You haven't seen anything yet," Elle said sweetly. **

**She twisted the blade to demonstrate and Larry bit his lip as the sword took off some of the skin on the back of his neck.**

"**What do you say, Mr. Gomez?" Elle asked.**

**Larry may have been an asshole, but he was far from stupid—he didn't need to be asked twice.**

"**What do you want me to do?" he asked.**

**Elle smiled and pulled her sword away, dropping it to her side.**

"**Go outside and get the gasoline I asked you to bring," she said. **

**TO BE CONTINUED.**

* * *

Hoo shit, a cliffhanger!

This wasn't originally going to be a cliff-hanger, but I really do not want to make it a habit posting really long chapters like the last one I did, so I'm splitting it in two.

So hey everybody, howsit it going? Time to bore everyone to death with notes and stuff they don't care about (**Kelley, Slave2KarmaFan**, notes for you guys at the bottom)

I feel so much better after writing this; it's crazy how fast it all came back to me. I've finished my first year at University, and I'm off island for the first time since 2008! (Dunno if I've mentioned that I live in Hawaii before). I'm spending my summer in the Bay Area, and man oh man, it is good to be back (even if eighty percent of my time is spent on art or writing).

Notes on this chapter—dude, funnest thing I've written in a good, long while. I had been both looking forward to and dreading writing Elle's scene: trying to figure out how to get Budd's jackass boss down to the camper was one thing—trying to figure out why he would bring the stripper with him had me stumped for a while. And for the stripper (same one snorting coke in the movie) I had a ton of trouble finding her name—I even went back and read some old Kill Bill scripts (helpful, because it told me the name of the strip joint), but her name ain't there. I couldn't even find the name of the actress, which I normally use when a character is nameless. The name 'Lucky' is listed by Larry Gomez, Jay and Rocket on IMDB, but there was no picture: It seemed fitting/hilarious enough to assume it was her after I couldn't find anything else. And about Ricky telling this story: Don't read to far into it. While the bold flashbacks are what actually happened, the version Ricky is telling to Nikki is probably much more condensed, a lot more speculation—but more or less right.

**Kelley**, if you noticed, Lolita did your Columbia cosplay request! Unfortunately, neither Nikki nor I have seen Rocky Horror picture show. I've seen bits and pieces, need to sit down one day and just watch it all: Nikki has a problem with musicals induced by her step mother making her watch Grease over and over when she was little (the same step mother who made Nikki take baton and gymnastics). Anyway, I'm going to draw Lolita in this outfit now, it's too cute.

And then I just got a very weird image of Ricky singing Sweet Transvestite. I do not know how to feel about that…

**Slave2KarmaFan**—shame you never leave any contact info, I almost always respond to reviews privately. Perhaps you don't stick around for these end notes—I have in fact begun writing my own stories. Night Child: Ace's High is now complete on fiction press and there is plenty of art in my gallery on Deviantart for it (I am currently working out the next story, NC: Blood Machine). I am also planning AN ORIGINAL WEB COMIC SERIES to post on my Deviantart called The Branding Code Society. It's still in the rough stages of pre-production—but unlike all of my other half-baked ideas for comics, this one is being formatted to accommodate a page at a time update. So yes, hopefully I can get that off the ground.

And that's enough useless notes for now (lookit me, wasting space that could have been fanfic.) Gahhhh. Anyway, mistakes I miss will be corrected later as always, MUST POST BEFORE I FIND SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT. Any comments, questions, critiques are always welcome and appreciated!

Write on!


	19. The Mountain Snakes' Escape: Part II

Authors Note: Saved for the end.

Disclaimer: All characters from Kill Bill are owned by Tarantino. Everyone else is owned by me.

**Kill Kiddo: Chapter 19**

* * *

**Budd's Camper, 2004**

There was no air.

It was funny, how easy it used to be to breathe, and now how even sucking in just the tinniest breath made Lucky ache. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a little ball, but just the thought of moving sent tremors of pain down her sides.

Larry stared at his watch, the minutes passing like hours. Days. Years. With every gasp from Lucky, time seemed to slow down even more. Against his better judgment, Larry stole another glance at her.

She was whiter than paper, whiter than the powdery coke she had been snorting just hours earlier. Her cheeks were coated in sweat and tears spilled out of her swollen eyes. Lucky could see Larry looking at her and she opened her lips, trying to call out his name, but all that came out was spit and a whimper.

"This is fucked up," Larry mumbled.

"Not much longer now," Elle said.

"…Larry…" Lucky gasped. She sounded like a fish out of water.

"_Son of a bitch_," Larry spat. "Can't you fucking slit her throat? This is torture."

"They'll know she's been cut, you moron. Just wait three goddamn minutes."

Lucky looked up at Larry, sputtering. She had a very limited comprehension of what was happening—where they were, why Larry wasn't taking her to the hospital, who this blurry, bloody faced woman was. Part of Lucky hoped Larry didn't think this blonde was prettier than her, but mostly, Lucky wanted Larry to reach down and take her hand. She waited for him to tilt his head towards her again, and then she mouthed his name, flexing her fingers at him as much as she could without making the fire inside her burn worse.

_Just take my hand, Larry_, she pleaded silently.

Elle twisted her head around as she heard Larry walk down the hall towards the bathroom.

"I can't take this shit. Just tell me when it's over."

Elle scoffed in disgust.

"You're a pathetic pussy-foot, you know that?" Elle asked.

Larry Gomez shook his head, and tried to distract himself. He looked into the bathroom, at the torn up walls, the puddles of water and blood. Something smelled putrid, but he wasn't about to try searching for the source. Right now, he was very aware of Lucky's escalating breaths pouring in through the demolished wall of the bathroom, and he turned away, focusing on the bloodstained carpet instead. He took a few steps back, and stopped as he came to a foreign object—long, black, and hallow with a white thread trim.

_The sheath of a sword. _

"Hey," Elle called. "Your coke bloated stripper took her last breath. You can come back."

Larry cringed. They'd gone over this part when he brought the gas in, but damn. This was going to be nasty. Averting his gaze, he trudged back through the hall. He held his breath as he stepped over Buds' rotting body in the kitchen, but as he slid open a few drawers, he found himself faced with another dilemma entirely.

What to use…a knife? _A spoon?_

"What's the hold up?" Elle demanded.

Larry swore under his breath and pulled out the whole drawer before doubling back. He took a brief glance at Elle, who sat on her red suitcase with her sword tight between her fingers. He glanced at a steak knife in his drawer, not daring to wonder if he could beat the eyeless bitch to the draw. He shook his head and kneeled down in front of the recently deceased Lucky. Her eyes were still open, but hazed over with the pain and confusion that gripped her in her last living moments. Larry pressed a hand to her head, the knife in his other.

_Her skin was still warm._

"Shit," he gagged.

"Just do it," Elle demanded.

"I'm trying to figure out how!" Larry yelled. "What if her fucking eyes pop when I try to get them out?"

"Then you're just going to have to scoop the rest out," Elle mocked.

"_This is so messed up."_

"The sooner you do it, the sooner we can get the hell out of here. Just bite the bullet and,"—

Elle stopped talking as she heard a sickening squish sound, followed by subsequent squirts of blood and Larry's heavy gagging. The messy act took only a few minutes, but when he was done, Larry stood up and ran to the bathroom to vomit.

"Did you finish?" Elle called.

Larry ignored her, breathing through his mouth so that putrid smell wouldn't make it worse. He used the handle of the knife to flush the toilet, and as he stood up and walked out of the doorframe, he felt something sticky cling to the bottom of his shoe.

Larry leaned down to inspect his sole, and gagged at the source of the horrible smell.

"What is it?" Elle called.

Larry choked back a cough, and suddenly, that cough turned into a sick, grim laugh.

"Hey bitch," he called. "I found one of your eyes."

Elle grit her teeth as he came back into the room.

"Should I flush it too?" he asked.

"No. we'll get rid of it when we get out of here," Elle said, yanking off her eye patch and handing it to him.

Larry did not waste time—he wanted to get out of this camper. He yanked the eye patch over Lucky's head, and dragged her body into the bathroom. He tossed one of her eyes in after her, the other, he wrapped up in a hand towel along with the blonde bitches' rotten, smashed one. Without much thought, he picked up the sword sheath and stuffed the towel into it, passing it to Elle as he walked back into the room. Seemed as good of a container as any.

"Hold this," he said, leaning down to grab the gasoline. A quick drizzle throughout the camper, taking special care to douse both Budd and Lucky's body.

"Done," he said finally, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Elle smiled, and with a swift move, she had one arm wrapped around Larry's neck—the sword hanging limply, but close enough to his throat to put him on edge.

"By all means, Mr. Gomez, escort us out."

Larry stared at Elle, the strong smell of sweat and putrid flesh still on her. He choked back another gag at the close up sight of her eyeless, hallow face, and he hesitated.

"Wait," Larry said, glancing around the camper. He knew the chances of them getting pulled over by the cops were slim, but the dried blood caked onto this blondes' socket could be spotted from blocks away. Larry's eyes came to a stop as he glanced at Budd's sofa.

_Budd's hat. That fucking hat_.

Gritting his teeth, Larry reached out and grabbed the hat, plopping it down on Elle's head before gingerly helping her out to his ranchero. She held onto the keys and held the suitcase of cash tight on her lap as he ran back inside to set the camper alight. A few moments later, he was back in the car, she passed him the keys, and they were off.

"I'm guessing you don't want to go to any hospital," Larry said, eyeing the red suitcase.

"You guess right," Elle said sarcastically, despite the sheer contentment she felt. She had escaped death. She had her Hanzo sword gripped tightly in her hands. She had even found a way to fake her own finale, and for now, she had a pair of eyes she reckoned could be bribed into doing more dirty work. And although she felt light headed from the trauma and blood loss, nothing could steal this victory from her.

"Just take me somewhere secluded," Elle demanded weakly. "I don't care where."

"Well don't worry, baby. Won't anybody be where we're going."

Larry looked back in his mirror in time to see the smoke snake out into the air and the flames lap at the interior of the windows. This far off road, this far out in the dry dessert, the camper could smolder for days and could sit for weeks before anyone would find it.

The flames grew higher, and from underneath the camper, the black mamba hissed and slithered out from the growing inferno. She waited only a moment before twisting out into the dessert, ready to find vermin to hunt.

_**-KK-**_

When Elle woke up, her head was swimming. The stinging in her eye was subsiding, but was replaced with a horrible empty, moist, chemical feeling. Her eyelid was already starting to sink in, and the feeling was incredibly uncomfortable and nostalgic. She lifted her hands to try to readjust it, but her fingers met a sturdy wall of bandages acting blockade, wrapped around both her sockets.

Elle pulled herself off of the spongy surface—a flattened futon placed on top of the stripping platform, and she eased herself over the edge. She misjudged the height she was sitting at, and ended up falling face forward, her socket throbbing and burning with pressure.

"Fuck," she hissed. She could hear sounds reverberating in her head, and as the inside of her skull stopped spinning, they started to come into focus.

Two people. A woman, opening a door and laughing. A man walking towards her, mumbling.

"Someone forget to light the open sign, or we giving up the ghost?" the woman asked in a bitchy, flashy voice.

"Didn't you get the email, Rocket?" the man asked. "Closed today."

"What? Closed? Why are you here then?" Rocket asked.

"Larry needed my help with a few things," the man said solemnly. "We've kinda got a situation on our hands."

"Pfff, what bullshit. Well. Can you at least fix me up with a drink before I head back home? So my drive out here wasn't completely useless?" she pleaded.

Elle heard the man sigh and his footsteps pound as he headed somewhere behind her, and then the tinker of glasses and ice.

"You're my hero, Jay," Rocket gushed with feigned sincerity. "Hey…who's the blonde number on the floor?"

Elle heard the glass slip and shatter.

"_Shit,"_ Jay mumbled.

Fast feet, fast hands against her, Elle hardly had a moment to try to fight them off.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, didn't see you get up—you okay? Feeling any better?" Jay asked.

Elle stood up and tried to still herself by holding onto the strip platform.

"Who…who the hell are you?" Elle asked, feeling edgeless and vulnerable. "Where am I?"

"…You're still at Club My-Oh-My, don't you remember last night? After you and Larry showed up?" Jay asked.

All Elle could manage was to shake her head, and even that hurt.

_God, she felt fucking pathetic._

"I helped you…clean out your eye?" Jay ventured.

"You did fucking what?" Elle asked, her sore voice cracking.

"Well, guess that morphine Larry was hording did its job and then some," Jay said. "Lemme fix you some food."

"Larry's got morphine?" Rocket cut in immediately.

Elle fought her way into a stool.

"I'm not hungry," she said, even though she was starving. "I just want to talk to Larry."

"He stepped outside for a moment," Jay said, plopping a plate of nachos and a tall glass of water down in front of Elle. "Hopefully this time you eat, you'll be able to keep it down."

Elle waited a few moments before she blindly reached forward and began shoving the horrible strip club food into her mouth. She paused as Rocket came and sat down next to her, but after a moment, decided she didn't give a shit what some tacky stripper thought of her.

"You must be hungry, eating the crap we got here," Rocket laughed. "So…what happened to your eyes?"

"…Laser eye surgery," Elle mumbled with her mouth full.

The door slammed open, and Elle turned around, even though there was nothing for her to see.

"Well, look who finally woke up," Larry said. "…Rocket, the fuck are you doing here? I said we're closed."

"My piece of shit computer got fried, remember? Hey, Jay says you got morphine. What's a girl gotta do to get a drop or two?" Rocket asked.

"Fucking Jay. Actually, there is something you can do. Ya know how Lucky and I stepped out for a breather last night?" Larry asked. "Well, she bought herself the winning lottery ticket at Circle Kay and left for the Bahamas immediately. Comprende?"

"_Heh._ Whatever you say, boss," Rocket laughed.

"Larry." Elle finally spoke up, almost yelling. It was horse, painful, and while she couldn't see it, Rocket and Jay both glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

"…Whatcha need, Blondie?" Larry asked, inching closer to his office.

"We need to talk. Now," she hissed.

A sigh. A door creaking open. More footsteps.

"Bring her in, Jay."

Jay came back around and fished Elle out of her seat, who still winced with shock, but accepted his help this time. As he walked her to the office, Larry sat down and reaching into his desk, pulling out the left over baggie of coke from the previous night. Normally, after getting such a massive payout, he'd call his dealer in a heart beat and put in a new order, get quality shit, but he hadn't had the time.

Elle let go of Jay as she felt herself skim the edge of the door, and he pulled the chair out for her before turning back around and walking out.

"Holler if you need anything," he said.

Elle felt behind herself and slammed the door shut. Then she turned in the direction of what she assumed was Larry, trying to keep her calm. Trying to not feel completely helpless.

"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes," Larry chuckled.

"Fuck you," Elle spat, feeling for the chair before cautiously sitting down. "Where's my sword?"

"You know bitch, I've been pretty nice to you. Coulda shucked and chucked your body last night when you passed out. I think we're a bit past you waving your fucking ninja shit in my face," Larry said smugly.

Elle shook. She wanted to kill him. Oh god, it would be so easy. But the sad truth was that she needed this sleaze ball fuck.

"I just…want…my sword," Elle said solemnly.

"Fine, but keep that shit gloved," Larry said, passing her the sheathed sword. "Anyway, I burned the eyes last night like ya said, not a speck of evidence on us, not a word on the news 'bout any bodies being discovered yet, I'd say you got exactly what you wanted, lady."

As he stopped talking, Elle could hear remarkably well the sound of rustling plastic, followed by the light tapping of metal on glass. She shook her head and cleared her throat.

"I'd say," Elle said, tracing the handle of her Hanzo sword with her thumb. "Almost."

"…Almost?" Larry asked.

"I need a ride somewhere."

Elle paused, waiting for a response. Instead, she heard a sharp intake of breath. A snort, followed by a muffled exhale.

"…This somewhere far?" Larry asked finally.

"It's not in fucking Texas," Elle said.

"Look here, babe—I don't exactly have the time to be running all these errands. For free, that is."

Elle thumbed the sheath of her sword. _It would be so, so fucking easy…._

"Well, Larry, would stopping at an ATM change your mind?"

The words practically cut her lips as she forced them between the cracks of her gritting teeth. Unbeknownst to her, Larry was smiling like a motherfucker, thinking of how much more money he could milk out of this eyeless bitch. He played it cool though, acting calm. Disinterested.

"And when would you be needing this ride, exactly?" Larry asked.

"Yesterday," Elle said.

**_-KK-_**

The car beat steadily against the road, and Larry sighed as he drove up the path to the hacienda. His ranchero was not used to this much abuse. It was a nice fucking car, red and black with a vanity plate that read 'MY0HMY'. Larry could only guess how bad his tires were suffering from the drive through Mexico.

"Kay. I'm looking at a bunch of fancy condos, palm trees and shit. This the place?" Larry asked.

"Yeah. Any cop cars?" Elle asked.

"Not that I can see."

Elle gripped her sword tight. They might not have been too late after all.

Larry didn't trust the valet with his newly refilled red suitcase of dough, so he wheeled it out with them as he guided the way to Bill's condo, room 101. Elle slid him the key, but it was unnecessary. The door was already open. Elle pushed her way past Gomez and into the room.

"Bill?" She called out.

No answer.

"BILL? BB?" Elle yelled.

Not a sound.

"Go upstairs," Elle demanded to Larry.

She heard him swear beneath his breath as he walked to the stairs, and she took her sword, using it as a walking stick, and began to walk the perimeter of the first floor. She got to the open door of the patio before Larry came back down.

"No one's upstairs," Larry said.

"There's a beach outside, sometimes they like walking there at night. we'll check there,"—

"Oh," Larry mumbled suddenly, glancing past Elle. "_Shit."_

"What?" Elle demanded.

"…I think I found Bill."

Elle's sword fell from her hands. She stumbled out into the garden, blindly, and Larry sighed before take her by the shoulder and guiding her to Bill's fallen body. Elle fell to her knees, touched the back of his head, the side of his face.

He was cold as ice.

Elle felt her tear ducts sting, and she whimpered as the salty tears bore into her sockets. Larry stared at the dead body in her hands, wondering only briefly how a corpse could look that clean—not a drop of blood on it. Must have been strangled or poisoned. Must be fresh, too, otherwise they would have smelled it on the way in.

"Get me the fuck out of here," Elle demanded, her voice trembling.

Larry grabbed her arm, and pulled her towards the door. He paused for only a minute to pick up her sword, and then stopped as a little shine by the table caught his eye.

"Hey. There's another sword over here," he said.

"What?"

Larry picked it up and passed it to Elle, who knew instantly that this was Bill's Hanzo sword.

_Bill's sword_. She had completely forgotten.

Playing dead or not, Elle was not about to leave this behind. Her last reminder and the single keepsake of the only man she ever loved.

_**-KK-**_

Elle and Larry stood silently at the balcony in the lounge. The humid air smelled of forest and salt water, and not too far away, waves pounded against some unseen shoreline. Larry finished rolling his cigarette and he passed it to Elle, lighting it up for her. He waited for her to take a drag before he cut in.

"So, I ain't got a fucking clue what's going on…but what does this mean?" he asked.

Elle ignored him. She clutched her swords in both hands, seething. The tears that had finally worked their way through her bandages, but her sunglasses obstructed them from view.

"I probably missed the bitch by a day," Elle said to herself.

"What bitch?" Larry asked.

"The shithead who did this," she whispered. "The same one who pulled out my eye."

"So…what now? You gonna track her down and kill her?" Larry asked.

Elle was quiet.

"You're not gonna be able to do it by yourself, that's for damn sure," Larry said. "I gotta say, I'm getting pretty tired of all this shit, but so long as you keep paying me, I'll keep it up."

Nothing. Silent as the grave. Had Larry been paying closer attention, he would have seen Elle's fingers tighten around the hilt of her swords.

"…You…okay there?" he asked impatiently. "You hearing me?"

"Is the lounge empty?" Elle suddenly inquired.

Larry tilted his head, her question catching him off guard.

"Yeah…it's the middle of the fucking night,"—

Elle's cigarette dropped from her mouth, and before it hit the ground, she had drawn one of her swords and sunken it into Larry. She couldn't exactly tell where she hit him, but from his yell and the squish the sword made, she was sure she got in a good one. She pulled back her blade, and waited for Larry to fall.

"You…you fucking bitch," he mumbled, dropping to his knees.

"Shut up," Elle hissed as she brought her sword down again. This time she sliced instead of stabbed, and a warm torrent of blood hit her face. She wiped it away as Larry sputtered.

"…Why…" he whispered.

"Fucking die!" Elle said acidly, bringing the sword down on him again.

She was met with silence. Her heart beat heavy against her chest, and her empty socket throbbed with the echo of her pulse.

"You goddamn bitch!" Elle yelled, bringing her sword down once more. "You fucking, murdering, piece of shit!"

Elle hacked away at Larry's lifeless husk until her sword fell from her shaking hands. She balled her fists together and pounded weakly against the concrete balcony, moaning in agony.

"I should have killed you in the hospital when I had the chance," Elle whimpered.

It would have been so easy back then. A moment, the perfect opportunity, snatched out of her fingers. Taunting her. Haunting her. That last image of Beatrix Kiddo still hung in her mind, the last thing she ever saw before the world disappeared.

_The last thing she would ever see._

And there was nothing she could fucking do about it now. As an assassin, as a killer, as an artist of murder, Elle had been rendered worthless. And now the only person she ever cared for, the only human being who ever showed her an inch of compassion was dead.

Elle lifted Larry's mutilated body up and with little trouble, heaved him over the balcony. She re-sheaved her sword and felt around for Larry's suitcase. With the two swords over her shoulder and the suitcase handle in her hand, she slowly felt her way out of the lounge, down the stairs.

Elle had no idea the state of her appearance—she could be drenched in blood for all she knew, but she didn't bother to wash off. She didn't care at this point, and the people at the front desk didn't seem to notice, not that she noticed them. She made her way into the lobby, and an off duty valet, seeing her wandering with unsure footing, left his seat and walked over to her.

"Senorita, are you alright?" he asked.

"How would you like to get a significant tip?" Elle asked.

She didn't wait for his response, just wheeled the suitcase up to him.

"Open this. Not all the way, just look in."

The valet leaned forward and unzipped the bag, and gasped in shock at the multiple stacks of cash lining the interior.

"I need a designated driver," Elle said simply.

"I…of course!" the valet said at once, grabbing her gently by the arm and leading her outside. He was only a moment, fetching the car, and quickly helped her into her seat.

"Where am I taking you?" he asked, voice trembling with excitement as he started the engine.

"Just…drive as far away from here as you can. And fast," Elle said.

Elle reached down to feel the two Hanzo swords in her lap. Funny, how the most priceless Japanese steel, the only things she had ever wanted in the world, she'd trade in an instant for what she had ripped from her. But there was no sense wishing things were different, in showing contempt for a decent consolation. She traced the hilts, lowering the sheath an inch to feel the cold flat of the blade. It was almost electric, and as she pushed the sword back into the sheath, only one thought echoed through her mind.

_She'd never let these blades leave her side._

And while Elle Driver was blind to the road in front of her, both figuratively and literally, she would not let it stop her. She had come much too far for that. She would keep going. Keep running.

She'd figure out where to along the way.

* * *

So hi everyone! Been a while! :D

This has been sitting in my laptop in pieces for months, finally got it in me to stitch it all together. Jeesh, I can't believe it's been over a year since I updated…if any of the original audience is still out there, sorry y'all! Life gets in the way sometimes. Although to be honest, in the past few years I realized how writing Kill Kiddo was my way of dealing with my stress, and that now that I'm less stressed, I've been writing a lot less. But as I've said before—I plan on finishing all of my fanfics, someday. Kill Kiddo is very special to me, as it maps my progress as a writer over the years. So weird to go to the first chapter and then read the current ones…I've come a long way! ^_^

Anyway, a little update about myself: still in Hawaii, still going to Uni, planning on double majoring in English and either Animation or Graphic Design. If you'd like to check out my artwork or contact me, there's a link to my Deviantart in my profile! Thanks for reading!

Write on!


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